


Journal of a Buoyant Armiger

by Cypress (CalmWatersSubtleDance), IchijouKenichiro



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Art, Bisexuality, Buoyant Armigers, Coldharbour, Daedra, Daedra Worship, Diary/Journal, Digital Art, Elder Scrolls Lore, Intersex Character, LGBTQ Themes, Multi, Murder, Neural Network Art, Non-binary protagonist, Other, Realistic Magical Limitations, Sketchbook, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Trans Character, Violence, Vivec Worship, Wild Headcanoneering, Worldbuilding, explanation of game mechanics, pansexuality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalmWatersSubtleDance/pseuds/Cypress, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IchijouKenichiro/pseuds/IchijouKenichiro
Summary: To anyone who finds these words, please remember me. My name is Telandryn Marvani. I am a Buoyant Armiger by trade, and an artist by passion. I have been killed and soul trapped, sent to Coldharbour against my will. This is quite likely a documentation of my last words.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All artwork is created with screenshots or photos processed through photoshop and a system of neural networks.
> 
> Chapter contains non-graphic death, murder, suicide, and torture.

_(On the back of this portrait is a letter written in Dunmeris in neat Daedric script.)_

To anyone who finds these words, please remember me. My name is Telandryn Marvani. It seems important for you to know my name, though I never use it. Everyone always calls me Tel, and I prefer it that way. I am a Buoyant Armiger by trade, and an artist by passion. I have been killed and soul trapped, sent to Coldharbour against my will. This is quite likely a documentation of my last words.

I shall try to give you an idea of what happened to me. I was in Mournhold, acting as a glorified courier for the Temple. I had completed my delivery, and was taking in the sights of the city when I was approached by a woman claiming to need my help. As a Buoyant Armiger and public servant, it is my duty to help citizens in need of aid, so I accompanied her back to her house, where I was ambushed and taken captive.

I cannot clearly remember what happened to me after that, but I do remember being drugged and chained in a long line of other prisoners. The cultists who had taken me unchained each of the prisoners in turn and sacrificed them atop some kind of altar. I now know that it was an altar to that most despicable Corner of the House of Troubles, Molag Bal. When my turn came, I found I could not struggle, even as an Altmer with long white hair held a black soul gem over my body and plunged a knife into my chest.

I woke up naked in a prison cell. At first I thought my death had been nothing but a bad dream, but as I examined my situation, I realized that I could not be on Nirn anymore. The small brazier in my cell held a fire of blue flame which did not give off any heat. I could see torture devices and stockades through the bars of my cell, and Dremora using those devices on poor prisoners who looked as though they might as well be undead. Their eyes were all a blank, milky white, and surrounded by hollow circles so deep they appeared to be bruises, and their skin had a sallow paleness to it that made them look like corpses. I quickly discovered that I myself had these features as well, though I have not yet confirmed the eyes.

On top of it all, I felt a sort of hollowness that I do not know how to properly describe. I suspect that this is what being soulless feels like. It is simultaneously the most horrifying and insidious feeling I have ever experienced.

The Dremora dragged me out of my cell, and I was given rags and put to work grinding rocks for some kind of smeltery. It quickly became obvious to me that this is Coldharbour. The visage of Molag Bal is everywhere. I have a despairing sense of certainty that death and insanity are inevitable in this place. I know not how I shall die, or even if I can die here in Coldharbour, seeing as I have already died once before. I know not what state you may find me in, and if I yet live, whether my mind will still belong to me. I have seen plenty of evidence that suggests the opposite.

I took a chance and stole a page of blank paper from the overseer’s desk as I passed, and currently write you, whoever you may be, with a stub of burnt stick. I implore you, remember me. I cannot stand the thought of dying and being forgotten. And if you ever make it out of Coldharbour, please take this account to Captain Naros in Molag Mar, or, failing that, deliver my testimony into the hands of any Armiger or Ordinator in Morrowind. They will be able to have it delivered to my Captain.

Captain Naros, if this makes it into your hands, you are the executor of my estate. You should already have my will on file in the Armiger offices. Please, tell my friends goodbye, and that I loved all of them.

In Vivec’s Name,  
Tel Marvani

P.S. The accompanying portrait is how I wish to be remembered.

* * *

 

Day 8? I think?

Well, I’m not dead yet, though it is not for lack of trying on the part of the Dremora. I would rather not dwell on that. It has been more than a week since I first arrived in Coldharbour. My sense of time has been reduced to relying on sleeping shifts to count the days. I finally had the opportunity to steal some more paper. I think I would like to document my life while I still have the chance.

I was born in the ash; a gutter-get, a daggerlad, or at least that's what I'd like to say. The truth is I have no idea where I was born. All I know is that when I was born, they took one look at me and said, this is a fine young girl. I begged to differ, but nobody listens to a baby.

I was raised by the Tribunal Temple in Balmora. It was not an easy childhood, but it wasn’t bad. To this day, I have no idea who my parents were, though they were kind enough to leave me with a family name, not that it’s any help without an actual family. I doubt the Temple would tell me who they were if I asked. As far as I know, I was given up voluntarily. It’s not like it matters after over eleven decades of life. I am my own mer.

I’m rambling, I know, but I can afford to ramble. I stole enough paper to last me a little while at least, and the writing is a welcome distraction from my surroundings.

If someone were to ask me, “Tel, who are you?” what would I say?

First and foremost, I am a loyal and faithful follower of Vivec. It is my pride and bliss to be counted among the members of the Buoyant Armigers. It was my dream when I was small, and living it has by no means diminished it.

Second, I am an artist. I paint, I draw, and I show beautiful things to the world. It is also a useful skill if there is ever a need for a portrait artist among the ranks of the Armigers, though I do prefer landscapes. I have an arrangement with one of the innkeepers in Vivec City to use one of their rooms as a gallery. They get publicity, I get a place to display and sell my art, not that I need the money. The Armigers provide me with everything I need. I usually just donate the proceeds to the Temple.

“But Tel,” I hear the objection, “that is what you do, not who you are!”

But “who are you?” is such a difficult question to answer. Are we just a conglomeration of what we have done in the past and what we plan to do in the future? No, I think there is more to it than that. Personality, as well.

I am generally a cheerful person, despite current circumstances. I have been told numerous times that my temperament is well suited to being an Armiger. I’m friendly and fun-loving, but also passionate and dedicated. I love being around people, and the relaxed, but still structured atmosphere of the Armigers seems to suit me perfectly. I’m good at working in a team, and I can’t imagine how people go through their lives without a dozen or so friends available in the next room over. I love animals and jokes and games and all kinds of art and performance. I'm good with a bow, a quarterstaff, a magical staff, and a fair bit of magicka. I’ve got tattoos covering most of my body, and I have several facial piercings (which I seem to have lost in my journey to Coldharbour. Fetching cultists.)

Are these who I am? Not wholly, no. Are these part of what make me who I am? Certainly, yes. I guess that will have to be enough. Now is not the time for existential crises. I know who I am. I am merely frustrated that I cannot seem to convey it on paper.

Gods, I am too tired and sore to continue this endeavor right now. The Dremora have seen fit to whip me three days in a row now, and my healing magic does nothing to get rid of the hunger and exhaustion of healing and magicka use. More tomorrow.

* * *

Day 9, probably

People’s lives tend to be defined by a series of important events. Those events help shape who they are. They can happen at any time, but they are often clustered early in life.

For me, my first important event was being given to the Tribunal Temple to raise. I was too young to remember it, so I have no idea what my life could have been had it not happened. Nevertheless it has defined my entire life up until the present day. I have no idea who I would be if I had not been that charity-raised Temple orphan who wandered the streets of Balmora with bare feet, and caught skimmer beetles and mudcrabs on the Odai.

When I was around sixteen years old I got into my first and only long-term romantic relationship. It lasted about two years. It was not a good relationship.

I’d dreamed of being a Buoyant Armiger since I was small. It was one of the reasons I put up with the Temple’s impersonal education system. My boyfriend, Relur, did not approve of my ambition. He wanted me all to himself. He was jealous like that.

In retrospect, I realize that he was a manipulative bastard, and pathetic in the extreme, but to my inexperienced eyes, he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I was not a pretty girl. My facial features have always been too masculine, and my carriage always too rambunctious to achieve any sort of delicate ideal of femininity. Relur was the first person to show any sort of romantic interest in me, and I was intoxicated by the attention. It took me entirely too long to realize how unhealthy the relationship truly was, and it wasn't until he tried to stop me from applying to the Buoyant Armigers that I was willing to admit it to myself.

When I received my acceptance letter from the Buoyant Armiger Training Citadel, I didn't tell Relur. Instead, I packed my things and left, with only a note to inform Relur of what I’d done.

The following years at the Training Citadel were deliriously happy in comparison. It was there that I fully accepted what a dysfunctional relationship Relur and I had. I still cherish friendships I made during my training.

I did see Relur again almost ten years later. He hadn't made much of himself. He never was ambitious. When I saw him that first day of my new assignment at Molag Mar, he acted bitter and hateful to me, and I don't regret slapping him. I later heard he got drunk and started a bar fight and had to be restrained by another one of the Armigers on duty, an irony that is not lost on me.

One important thing that being with the Armigers has taught me is how to distinguish between sexual and romantic interest. I discovered that what I had previously mistaken for romantic attraction was probably mostly sexual. I am perfectly happy with the friendships I have, participating in the Armiger’s creative activities and orgies, and living my life fully dedicated to my Lord Vivec. I don't need a romantic partner to be fulfilled. I challenge myself to become better every day, and romance would just get in the way. Besides, if it turned out to have any similarity to my relationship with Relur, I would rather spare myself the headache.

My training in the Buoyant Armiger Citadel was a very important time in my life. It instilled a discipline in me that I had previously lacked. My training was very much a turning point in other ways as well. I’d never been comfortable acting in a feminine role, but the Armigers did not differentiate between male and female initiates. They even had mixed sleeping arrangements. I could act as masculine as I wanted and no one batted an eyelash. I started binding my chest during that time. Everyone seemed to take it in stride. It was tremendously freeing. I even caught a lecture from one of my superiors for doing it in an unsafe manner. “No binding during physical training!” and “Always bind with cloth that is cut along the bias so it stretches!” I never bound wrong again after that.

The Armigers also encouraged me to pursue art. All Buoyant Armigers are encouraged to take up some kind of creative endeavor. For most it is writing, or poetry, or a musical instrument, or even acting, but when they discovered that I had been quietly nurturing a nascent talent in drawing, they lavished me in pastels and paints and canvases and gave me lessons in shadow and perspective. Like I said, my training was deliriously happy. I got my first piercing then as well. It was just my ears, but I got my lip and nose pierced not long after, and started drawing up tattoo plans soon after that.

The first time I met Lord Vivec, I fell in love. Actually, I’m pretty sure I was already in love, but the first time I met Lord Vivec I fell _more_ in love. Before, it had just been a kind of wonder that a living god could be so similar to me, as unconfident and imperfect as I thought I was then. After I met Lord Vivec, my adoration turned into an appreciation for who Lord Vivec was as a person as well as an icon. That was during the convocation ceremony for the initiates who had completed their training, myself included. When he spoke to me, I felt a special connection. I think he must have realized the similarities between us, even then, because he spent several minutes in deep, personal discussion with me. I was very nearly tongue tied, but he made conversation easy for me. I was even more ecstatic to be counted among the members of his personal order of followers after that.

When I completed my first combat mission--it was a raid on a cult of militant followers of Mehrunes Dagon--I saved another mer’s life, at apparently great risk to my own. I hadn’t even been thinking about that at the time. I saw Galur get dragged into a side passage, and I went after him without thinking about it. Afterwards, Galur told anyone who would listen about my bravery, and word got to Lord Vivec, who immediately granted me a boon of favor. I thought long and hard about what to ask for, and finally settled on asking for the same body shape that Lord Vivec himself favors. He questioned me more specifically about what I wanted, and we worked out the body that I currently have now. No more breast binding, and I can bear a child through either method of conception should I so choose. He even let me choose the size of organ I wanted. I asked him to advise me on a size that would be pleasurable to both men and women, and anyone else I might decide to take as a lover.

Gods, it is so difficult to think of such happy times in my current circumstances. The memories turn bittersweet with the knowledge of where I am now. The Dremora are torturing a woman just outside my cell, and the writing can only distract me so much. I’m going back to drawing now.

* * *

Days 10-19, probably?

Sheo-fucking-gorath, I was drawing and I went to look through my sketchbook, only to realize again that my sketchbook is gone! Those fetching cultists have it along with my beautiful glass armour. They don’t even know the value of what they have! This is a loss almost as great as losing my soul. I have months of work that I will never be able to get back in that book, not to mention the memories it stores. Gods, what am I going to do?

* * *

Day… ??? 20, maybe. I’m not sure how long I was out.

I feel so hollow without a soul. It would be a better fate to die than to live like this. Can I still follow the teachings of Vivec? Can I still walk the walking ways? Is anything I do meaningful without a soul? Well, if this is to be a test, I shall have to rise to the occasion. It's not like I have much choice in any case. The Daedra Lords have seen fit to extend my trial; a mercy that is cruel and not entirely welcome.

They sent me to the smeltery again today. I’m not certain it is any better than the mines, but at least there is a landscape to look at. Coldharbour is truly a mockery of Nirn. Broken and discarded islands float like crazed netches in the Waters of Oblivion. I would say it was beautiful were it not so horrifying. The atmosphere is... oppressive.

The Dremora tasked me and the other Soul Shriven with grinding rocks. Work like that is grueling under the best of circumstances. In Coldharbour? It is utterly wretched. To slow, even for a breath under the ever vigilant eye of our taskmasters is to earn the whip, which cuts the flesh like lava, and leaves great bleeding welts in its wake.

There was some disturbance at the far end of the yard, and I seized the opportunity and ran. I ran as long and as far as my weak legs would carry me. When I finally collapsed, I found myself at the edge of a precipice. I stared over the edge, and saw the infinite void staring back at me. I was so tired. I heard the Dremora coming after me, and knew my respite was short, but I had no strength left with which to carry on. I have been contemplating for the entire duration of my captivity in Coldharbour that it is better to die than to live without a soul, and how can I reclaim my soul when I can't even escape the Dremora that bind me?

In a moment of weakness and despair I flung myself over the edge. I heard the Dremora rage above me before the rush of air finally drowned out the sound of their frustration. And then there was no more air, and I was choking. I saw the gloomy underbelly of Coldharbour high above me, impossibly far away in the endless void of Oblivion, and as my vision darkened, I knew that I had finally escaped, but not with my life.

I awoke in a cave, in a shallow lake of glowing blue goo. I could feel the magical potential radiating from the stuff as it dripped from my limbs. I was naked. I discovered that strength had returned to my body, and though I still felt weak, I no longer felt the bleeding welts of the lash upon my back. Upon examination, I discovered that my skin was perfectly smooth as though it had never been marred by cruel Dremora hand. Further investigation of my miraculously restored body revealed that the minor cut I received in Mournhold had returned, though it had healed and faded in my time in Coldharbour. My body is restored to precisely the condition it was when I first arrived. I am filled with the horrifying suspicion that I truly died when I flung myself over that cliff; that somewhere out there in the endless expanse of Oblivion, my lifeless body still falls through the void, rotting rags, fresh lash wounds and all. Is this body but a copy? Am I fated to be resurrected in exactly the state in which I first arrived if ever I should seek the false solace of death?

May Lord Vivec forgive me, I can hardly believe that I, a Buoyant Armiger, one who embraces the joy and poetry of life, was driven to seek my own demise. And not even in a way that would have allowed me to join the ranks of the Temple's guardian ancestors! I do believe that had I been successful, my spirit would have remained trapped in this realm. It is a terrifying thought, but I appear to have been given a second chance. I would beg my Lord for forgiveness for my foolish weakness, but I suspect that Lord Vivec would merely say that it was more important that I learn to forgive myself.

I remained caught up in thought while my body recovered from whatever ordeal I put it through, so much so that I did not notice at first what was occurring behind me. The unnatural flow of the magical glowing substance around me alerted me, and I turned to see the stuff… coagulate into the shape of a Dremora, just as naked as I. I had no time to think on the ramifications of this, as the Dremora recovered swiftly and summoned armor and weapon to himself, and I found myself captured again and ushered back to my cell.

I was relieved to find rags awaiting me there. It is not my beautiful glass armor that I lost when that horrible cultist plunged his knife into me, captured my soul, and bound my body to Coldharbour, but it is better than nothing. Were I to count only the happy hours as my Lord mandates, I would have no hours to count. I shall find joy in the small blessings and reclaim my hours for myself, though it remains difficult with this… hollow feeling.

My supply of stolen paper runs low and my stub of burnt stick diminishes rapidly. I will have to acquire more. I believe I shall use this last sheet to draw a happy memory. Perhaps I can reclaim a piece of my soul through my art.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. Starting in chapter three it will contain links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be one of a rare few chapters not in journal format.
> 
> Chapter contains graphic death and mentions of torture.

Tel awoke to discover his cell had a new occupant. Tel propped themself up on their elbows and stared, still groggy with sleep. The mer had dark, ash grey skin turned sallow from losing his soul, and a traditional Velothi haircut. Tel wondered if he was an Ashlander, and how an Ashlander had been caught by Molag Bal cultists as he had. They didn’t remember hearing about any dark anchors on Vvardenfell, but then again, not all Ashlanders were from Vvardenfell, and he was beginning to lose track of how long he had been in Coldharbour in the first place.

Tel stretched and stood, still bruised and stiff from the Dremora’s rough treatment. They glanced at their new cell mate again. The mer was naked, just as Tel had been when he had first been dragged into the little stone cell, and a pile of rags sat haphazard on the ground next to him. Tel moved to cover the mer. The last thing they needed was to make the mer feel more vulnerable than necessary.

Fayrl jumped with a start at the touch of something on his bare skin. He still had an echo of that terrible dream in his mind, the look of piercing Altmeri eyes upon him as the knife plunged into his chest. Registering someone else’s presence, Fayrl rolled backward and up onto his feet in a kneeling position, his hands going automatically to his hips where his blades should be.

He felt nothing but his own flesh. His eyes flicked down. He didn’t have a stitch of clothing on. He was without any weapons. His hair, so short as it was, had none of his backup weaponry. He was truly unarmed.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice coming out rougher than usual, as though he had been out drinking and singing for a whole week straight.

“Easy now.” Tel crouched in front of the mer, holding out his hands in front of him in an attempt to soothe the agitated Dunmer. “My name is Tel.”

Fayrl eyed the other mer uneasily, noting the placating gesture. “What do you want from me?” He steeled himself to bolt if necessary.

“We appear to have been chosen to be cell mates.” Tel glanced up at the rough iron bars that blocked their exit, lowering his voice as a Dremora guard passed. “Welcome to Coldharbour. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s Coldharbour.”

Fayrl took a step back. “Coldharbour?” He noticed the white eyes and pallor of the other mer’s skin. Was he even a mer? He looked like the descriptions Fayrl had heard of a Soul Shriven, those unfortunate souls damned to an eternity of torment at the hands of Molag Bal, if the wise women were truthful in their words. But what would a Soul Shriven be doing in a cell with him? And why would they not know for sure what realm of Oblivion they were in?

Fayrl rose to his full height, taking in his surroundings. He really wished for at least one of his blades. A bottle of poison wouldn’t hurt either. “So what did you do to upset your masters then?”

“ _My_ masters?” The edges of Tel’s mouth quirked upward in an expression halfway between a smile and a grimace. “I doubt Almsivi had anything to do with it. As far as I can tell they’ve been bringing new souls in by the boatload.”

Someone screamed in the distance, and there was a sudden clattering of metal upon metal. Tel stood and walked to the barred door, anxiously peering through the dimly lit haze.

Fayrl took a few steps towards the door, still wanting to keep his distance from the Soul Shriven. “So you were Dunmer once? What did you do to wind up here?”

“Once?” Tel glanced sharply at his new cellmate. “I’m just as Dunmer as you are.”

“Hardly. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but your eyes are white as Seht’s hair and your skin,” he frowned and reached out to point, “well, look, it’s lost all its color.”

He caught sight of his own arm. “You’re--” The usual color was faded, as though it lacked the vitality it had had all his life.

He turned his arm over, then back again. “My apologies,” he said, not sure how to accept this. How had he been brought to such a fate? Unless the dream….

No! That was too much to accept. After all that careful work to preserve his own life, could he really have been so carelessly killed?

Fayrl shook his head. No, no, that couldn’t be right at all. His soul was promised to Mephala. If he were to die without having his soul bound to the family crypt, it would go straight to the Spiral Skein. There was no way that he could be here and dead. No, this must be some Daedric trick to cause him to lose hope. A trick of Sheogorath perhaps? This did seem like madness. Or if not, then there was some enchantment he must have befallen. A trap of Lilandril’s perhaps, the fetcher!

“I’m sorry, friend.” Tel turned away from the sight of an Imperial man being dragged to the stockades scattered around the antechamber of their cell. They sighed and walked to the far wall, sitting with their back against it and hugging their knees. “I know it’s a lot. The House of Troubles sees fit to test us, it seems.”

“Just my luck,” Fayrl muttered bitterly under his breath. “How many more gods will play with my life before this year is through?”

He lifted his head towards the ceiling. “Lillandril, I swear if this is some ridiculous enchantment of yours, I will have your head right back to that Telvanni friend of yours! Do you hear me, fetcher? I will find a way to contact him and show him exactly how best to reopen all those nasty wounds of yours!”

“Well considering that I’m here too, I doubt it’s an illusion of this Lillandril of yours,” Tel offered quietly. “As far as I can determine, this is either Coldharbour, or some fabrication of Vaermina’s.” Tel ran his hand through his hair. “What’s your name, friend?”

“You can call me Fayrl,” replied Fayrl. “Though, I do wonder if you are real yourself.” He walked over to Tel and placed a hand upon the other mer’s shoulder.

His perception blurred and he was suddenly crouched over a prone child on a stone floor, frantically attempting to channel healing energy into multiple bleeding lacerations. “What happened? Where is Healer Tiras?”

“Kagouti. Tiras is still with Selvura. The birth is taking longer than expected.”

Fayrl glanced over his shoulder to look at the speaker, a Buoyant Armiger in full glass armor. “Go find him. I don’t know if I can heal this.”

The child coughed, and a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. A door slammed behind him and a frantic Dunmer woman stumbled into Fayrl’s field of view and dropped to her knees beside the child. Her eyes widened at the sight of the girl’s wounds.

“Do something!” she screamed, gripping the girl’s hand.

Fayrl glanced up from his healing spell, lips tight. “I am.”

The girl coughed again the sound gurgled in the child’s chest. A bubble of blood welled up on the girls lips and burst.

Fayrl wasted precious seconds fumbling a healer’s detection spell. She was fading before his eyes. He poured his magicka into the girl indiscriminately, trying to heal the punctured lungs that were slowly filling with blood. Internal organs were always difficult for novices to heal, and his spell ineptly fused the tissue without healing it properly. The child choked, drowning in her own blood. He wasn’t going to be able to save her. He wasn’t skilled enough.

The girl’s mother petted the child’s sweat soaked hair. “It’s going to be okay, Lena. It’s going to be alright. The Armigers found you. We got you a healer.”

Fayrl glanced helplessly up, close to panic. The woman’s words twisted his gut with guilt. He opened his mouth.

“Don’t you dare give up!” the woman snapped at him.

Fayrl closed his mouth and concentrated again, wincing as his unpracticed spell seared the girl’s damaged organs, doing as much harm as good.

The girl stopped breathing.

“No!” the woman screamed. “No, no! My baby! Please, no!”

Fayrl fumbled the healer’s detection spell again just in time to see the last spark of life leave the child’s body. “I… I’m sorry…”

“This is all your fault!”

The words struck him like a blow, and he felt sick. It _was_ his fault. It was all his fault.

Fayrl lifted his hand away from Tel’s shoulder, stumbling back from the other mer. His chest ached and his stomach was knotted. The guilt lingered even as the stolen memory faded from his vision.

He took a few shaky breaths, trying to steady his pulse. If the worst thing this Soul Shriven had done in life was to fail at saving another life, then why in Oblivion was he here?

Fayrl looked over at the other mer. Had he made a bargain with a Daedric prince to bring the girl back? That would certainly be enough for him to be brought here. He wondered if he should bring up such a wound so soon after meeting the mer.

“I suppose you’re real then,” he said quietly. “Tell me, how long has it been since you were brought here?”

“I’m not exactly certain,” Tel responded tiredly. He winced at the sound of a whip cracking in the next chamber. “A few weeks I think. More than twenty days at least.”

“I see.” Surely it was too soon to ask anything sensitive like details, but perhaps there were more recent evils this mer had committed. Could there be memories which Mephala’s blessing would not show? Fayrl had too many questions and no way to find answers yet. He decided to concentrate instead on more immediate matters.

“Tell me, what do they make you do day in and day out? Is it all torment?” Memories of his own torture began to cause a different sort of fear to blossom within him. It was bad enough to go through that in life, but to suffer it while somehow here in Oblivion, that was reserved for only the worst sort of souls.

"They make us mine ore and grind rocks,” Tel explained. “There's a smeltery out there. They work you at a frantic pace, and whip you if you slow. You regain a little strength after you die the first time, but it's never as much as you originally had. The worst is the persistent feeling of hollowness, hopelessness. It drives some people mad." Tel gave Fayrl a tight, humorless smile. “I’m sorry there’s no good news to be had here.”

“I thought you had to be dead to be a Soul Shriven,” Fayrl mused. “How can you die? How many times have _you_ died?”

“Twice now. Once when that miserable Altmer first killed me, and again when I… I jumped off the edge of a cliff… in an attempt to escape the Dremora. I’ve talked to some of the others though. They all say the same thing. No matter how many times you die, you always come back in exactly the same state you were when you first arrived. I… I don’t think the bodies we get are the same…” Tel trailed off and glanced down, flexing one hand.

Fayrl stood in silence. The implications of all this were harsh. It was difficult to come to terms with. Although this mer was clearly real, there was nothing to say that they weren’t both trapped in some Daedric scheme, possibly even along with others. One of the Four Corners had to be behind this. Fayrl only hoped that it was a test that would be easy to overcome, and that soon he could return to Nirn, if he wasn’t still there now. Something had to be behind all of this.

Tel glanced up from depressed reverie at their new cell mate. “Fayrl, yeah? Where are you from?”

Fayrl turned his attention back to the other Dunmer and tried to think about how best to answer. “Morrowind, Province of Deshaan. I’m from a small town. Do you know of Selfora?”

“Oh, er… no. I’m from Balmora. I was in Mournhold when I was taken.”

“Mournhold?” Fayrl tried to keep the true depth of his worry out of his voice. “Was the city under attack? Mother Morrowind surely could protect our capital. Though it must be terrible if things came to that.”

Tel paused in thought. “I should _hope_ we weren't under attack. No, I’m fairly certain I’m the only one… or possibly one of a few. There was no alarm that I heard.”

“It is so strange. Why are they taking people? I was in Valenwood--for work of course.”

“Valenwood?”

Fayrl nodded. “I am--or was, at least, a traveling musician.”

“Valenwood…” Tel frowned. “I’ve seen others from all over Tamriel of course, but the breadth of this scheme seems… unfathomably large.”

“I agree.” Fayrl looked around the cell, feeling rather small. “I mean, I’m no scholar or politician or great thinker, but it does seem to be across the far reaches of Tamriel. It’s all beyond me, of course, but it seems very big picture.”

Tel looked up at his new companion. “You, um… wanna put on some pants?”

Fayrl glanced down, realizing his state of undress. “I don’t suppose there are any good options here?”

Tel pointed to the pile of discarded rags with a wry smile.

Fayrl grimaced as he lifted up the shreds of fabric that could only very loosely be called trousers. “Oh dear. I almost wonder if there is any point to wearing this.”

“Well, it’s much colder out there, I can tell you that much.” Tel gave his companion a sympathetic glance and rooted around under a pile of straw for his paper.

Fayrl put on the torn, too-short trousers. “This is the most dreadful and humiliating part of the whole affair so far.”

“I’m sorry. You probably won’t be saying that by next week.” Tel fidgeted with the length of burnt stick he had been using as a writing implement. “Would you mind terribly if I draw you? I’m trying to document this whole mess while I still have my sanity.”

“Draw me?” Fayrl looked sheepish. “I suppose if you need a model, I am happy to oblige. Would you prefer me to keep the trousers on or take them off?”

Tel snorted. “Been a model many times then?”

“Only once or twice for a wealthy patron,” Fayrl lied. “Nothing professional. They always asked me to take off at least my shirt. Said it helped them to see the curves so they might get the shape of my body better. Are you positive you wish me to keep these on?”

“No no, keep them on. It’s too cold in here in any case.” Tel placed the paper on the flattest piece of ground they could find.

“Is this position alright then? You want me to stand any particular way, or…..?” Fayrl trailed off hoping his companion would direct him.

“However you’re comfortable sitting still for a long while. I hope they don’t interrupt us in the meantime.”

Fayrl didn't want to think too hard about what interruption Tel might be referring to. He also didn't want to look too much as though he knew how to pose, so he sat down on the ground and stretched out his legs, leaning back on his hands. “Is this alright?”

“Mhmm,” came the distracted reply.

Fayrl watched the mer as he started working. “So, how long have you been making art? Was it your profession before...” he looked around at the bleak stone cell, “...this?”

“Oh I’ve been doing art my whole life,” Tel responded absently. “I’ve done quite a bit professionally. I’ve got a small gallery in Vivec City.”

“Oh! You must have quite the clientele then; lots of wealthy lords and ladies in the city. I bet you must get a lot of commission work then?” Fayrl hoped he could find out more about this artist.

“Oh, I do commission work occasionally. I usually paint what I want and sell or donate the finished works. I love landscapes, but I’ve done quite a few portraits as well. My favorite subject is Vivec, the city and the mer.”

“By the Three! You must be accomplished if Lord Vivec himself will sit for you. If I'd known I would be sharing a cell with a celebrity I would've tried to make my hair more presentable beforehand.” Fayrl combed his fingers through his hair.

“Hah!” Tel barked a laugh. “I would hardly call myself a celebrity. Lord Vivec will sit for any artist who cares to set up in his audience chamber. He does so love to encourage the arts.”

“I didn't know he meant it so literally. I wonder if I got the funds together if I could have played for him. Alas, I suppose in such a place there is little hope of that.” Fayrl sighed morosely, though in truth his mind could only ruminate on the vanity of the False Tribunal.

“I don’t know,” said Tel absently. “There’s still hope yet. If we ever get out of here, I’ll introduce you. Lord Vivec has always surrounded himself with artists of all kinds. It sounds like you would fit right in with the Armigers. Do sit still please.”

“Oh, it would be an honor!” exclaimed Fayrl, then bit his lip. “Sorry. I’ll stop bothering you now.”

Armigers? Fayrl could laugh. As if he could ever find joy in playing footman to Vivec’s whims. He would rather eat a feast table full of sweetrolls made by a stableboy than serve another living god, no matter how nice the idea of orgies might be. He had his own God for such matters. Besides, he had never liked the city of Vivec. Something about the atmosphere just rubbed him the wrong way.

Fayrl turned his attention to this artist. Tel, he should remember that; his poor guar back in Tamriel had the same name. He did hope that the money he had paid would see that the poor dear was well cared for.

Tel the mer though, he was something else. Speaking so lightly on matters of acquaintance with Vivec, offering to introduce him to the Armigers when he had only spoken of being a musician; it was odd behavior. Either Tel was someone of notoriety, or he enjoyed playing at being one. Either way, it piqued Fayrl’s curiosity. How much was lies and how much was truth?

He focused his attention more carefully onto the lines of Tel’s face as he drew. Who was this mer? He had at least for a short time been a healer. Now he was an artist. The Armigers certainly seemed to feature prominently in his life. Was he the son of a high-ranking Armiger perhaps? Or a would-be who just couldn’t cut it?

Time passed, and the only noise to be heard was the scratching of Tel’s burnt stick against paper and the moans and screams of the prisoners of Coldharbour. Finally, Tel sat back with a sigh and ran a dirty hand through his hair.

“That will have to do. Dagon take this uneven ground though. At least you’re recognizable.”

Just being recognizable didn’t sound very promising to Fayrl, but maybe Tel was just being polite about his skills. He smiled at Tel. “Do you mind if I take a look? I’m very curious.”

“Be my guest.” Tel waved a hand at the paper in front of him.

Fayrl stood up and walked over to Tel, kneeling down to look over the other mer’s shoulder.

He was struck by the image. It was a very good likeness indeed. It seemed to catch Fayrl in a moment of contemplation, an expression that showed that perhaps he was letting a bit too much of his thoughts become visible on his face.  


“B’vek! You’re good! Better than the artist who I stood five hours for out on a windy and icy peak in winter wearing only a small fox pelt. And so fast! It’s little wonder you are so popular back in your city.”

“Thanks.” Tel smiled over his shoulder at Fayrl. “A hundred years of practice certainly don't hurt. You learn to draw quickly before the light changes, or the Kagouti you’re drawing decides you’re taking a bit too much interest in it.”

Tel sighed and sat back. “I'll admit, it is good to have a companion after so many nights in isolation--at least, what passes for night around here. Tell me about yourself, Fayrl?”

“Me? Well, I certainly don't have anyone famous in my past. I grew up in Selfora. It's a quiet little town. I met a passing bard when I was young and he taught me to play. As soon as I was old enough, I saved up for a lute of my own and started performing. Made enough to get out of there and travel the world. I still send money home to my family when I can, or the odd trinket. I like to let them know I am thinking of them while I'm away. How about you? Any family back home?”

“Nah, none that I know about anyway. I was raised by the Temple. It sounds like you’ve had an interesting life though! I’m sure you have plenty of stories to tell. I was wondering though, I noticed you have pierced ears. Are you a fan of piercings?”

“Ah, well, these were done by someone very dear to me. He--” Fayrl's hand went to touch the earrings, but below his hand there was nothing. Simply an empty space where Qau-dar’s gift had once been. A hollow pit began to grow in his stomach. The only thing he had left of his previous life was his memories it seemed.

“I’m sorry.” Tel gave Fayrl a contrite look. They hadn’t meant to make Fayrl feel bad. “I lost all my piercings too.”

Fayrl smiled brightly. “Just means I will get him to make me a better pair if I ever get out of here. I never changed them because of sentimentality. Now I have the chance to try new things. Just fate’s way of opening a new chapter for me.”

Tel gave a dry chuckle. “I like you, Fayrl. Always good to meet a fellow optimist.”

There was a sudden loud bang as a door in the next chamber was slammed open.

“Alright you varmint!” came a rough Dremora voice. “Sleep time’s over!”

“Shit!” Tel made a dive for his drawing and hastily stuffed it under the pile of straw. “Brace yourself, this won’t be pleasant,” he told Fayrl. “If you manage to grab any more paper on the way back, I would consider it a personal favor.”

Fayrl nodded, trying to focus on listening to the sounds of the approaching Daedra. “Any tips for surviving this in one piece?”

“Don’t talk back, don’t slack off, and don’t draw attention to yourself.” Tel’s face betrayed more anxiety than their voice. “The Dremora only pay attention to us if they think we aren’t doing our jobs. If it’s any consolation, you can’t actually die anymore I don’t think. It just hurts a whole hell of a lot.”

Fayrl considered this. He wondered if his powers still worked. Perhaps there was a way to make it through and escape. Maybe.

“Thank you, Tel.”

The cell next to theirs was slammed open and someone started crying hysterically. Tel’s face became tight. “Good luck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. Starting in chapter three it will contain links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains mentions of death, torture, and prostitution.

~~Day 21? 22?~~ 1 day since my last writing

Thank all the gods, I was able to grab some more paper on the way back to the cell, as I have a new cellmate to talk about.

He was brought in last night while I was passed out. He is Dunmer, like myself, from some small town in Deshaan. His name is Fayrl, and he is a musician. I have a suspicion he is more than he says he is, but he seems friendly enough, if a bit paranoid. He says he was taken from Valenwood, of all places. 

I grow increasingly worried about the scope of this Molag Bal cult. Previous cults I have dealt with in the past have been isolated, usually to a single location, but I’ve seen people from all over Tamriel arrive all within the past couple of weeks. I can’t imagine that all of them could be cultists who pledged their afterlives to the God of Schemes. Most, if not all of them must be people like myself who were caught in this cult’s trap. The few I have been able to talk to without drawing the Dremora’s ire have all confirmed this.

It is incredibly worrying. First there were rumors of dark anchors on the mainland, and now this? It must be connected. Why this cult is kidnapping souls for slave labor, I know not. It can’t simply be for the menial tasks they’ve put us to. There has to be more to it, but I don’t have enough information to find out  _ what. _

Gods, what I wouldn’t give to speak to Captain Naros, or, well… anyone who might know what on Nirn is going on.

Fayrl expressed some interest in the paper I brought back, so I gave him a few sheets. I wonder what he is planning on doing with them.

It is good to have some friendly company after so long, but I am so tired after today’s ordeal that I can’t seem to work up the energy to speak to him much. I haven’t even been able to work up the energy to  _ draw _ . Now that I have reported these latest events, I am going to sleep.

Read Fayrl's Corresponding Journal Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174861481729/on-a-ragged-bit-of-paper>

* * *

Day 6 since Fayrl’s arrival

Fayrl seems to be taking his imprisonment fairly well. He’s done none of the sobbing and ranting I’ve seen other prisoners do after being stolen from their daily lives and plunged into this hell. I caught him brooding a few times when he thought I wasn’t looking, but that’s understandable. It’s hard not to in this place. He’s been very attentive in following my advice regarding how to survive here, and I think that is helping. He’s a hard worker, though it helps that he was in excellent physical shape when he got here. I still have the nagging suspicion that there is more to him than he is saying, but I’m not going to worry about it. There’s nothing he could do to hurt me in here worse than the Dremora already do, and I’m not one to judge him for past actions in any case.

I think he rather likes me. At least, I hope he does. Maybe I’m misreading him. It’s hard to say. Still, he has been nothing but friendly with me, and that’s more than most people here have done. Torment has a way of turning the mind inward to the point of ignoring other people, friendly or otherwise. Fayrl has been quite responsive to me, and I have tried to give him the same courtesy. I think we have been rather good for each other. I hope it lasts.

The whipping has been awful. No pace of work is satisfactory to our captors, and the slightest hint of a decrease in pace earns the swift strike of the lash upon the back. If they were to strike steadily and with increasingly heavy strokes, it might be more bearable; it might be possible to subsume the sensation beneath a state of meditative endurance. Instead it is just a sudden searing pain that draws an involuntary cry from the lips no matter how much it is anticipated. This is quite literally a hell, with all the torment to go with it, but surely it is not worse than that suffered by Lord Vivec at the hands of the King of Rape.

We submit ourselves to the Corners that our wills might be forged in ice and in flame. The gods have seen fit to test us, and we have the choice to rise to the occasion or to break under the strain of it. I shall follow the legacy of Veloth and embrace the path set before my people by Boethiah. For we go different, and in thunder. This is our destiny.

“The slave labor of the senses is as selfish as polar ice, and worsens when energies are spent on a life others regard as fortunate.” Is the inverse therefore true? Is the free will of the mind as selfless as fire, and betters when energies are spent on a life others regard as unfortunate? Maybe so. This is a trial after all. 

Do you see me, my Lord? I am learning.

Read Fayrl's Corresponding Journal Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174864988364/entry-two-day-three>

* * *

Day 7 since Fayrl’s arrival

Fayrl didn’t arrive back at the cell this evening at the end of our work shift. It’s not unusual for us to arrive several minutes apart, but it’s been several hours and I’m getting worried.

Read Fayrl's Corresponding Journal Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174869945294/entry-three-day-seven-or-so>

* * *

Day 7 since Fayrl’s arrival, continued

Fayrl’s back! And he’s a mess. I think he managed to get himself killed, but I’m not sure. He apparently tried to seduce a Dremora. I didn’t believe him at first when he told me, but he insisted that was what he had tried to do. Of all the idiotic moves he could have made, he had to go and try this. I could have told him it wouldn’t work. The Dremora see mortals as little better than animals. For them, carnal relations with a mortal is akin to a one of us fucking a guar. Actually, that’s probably giving the Dremora too much credit. Guar are at least considered noble beasts. It’s more akin to sleeping with a daedrat, one of those little vermin that always seem to be infesting old Daedric ruins. 

In any case, he said he was hoping to receive special treatment in exchange for sexual services. He said he’d done it before, and also let slip that he’d been imprisoned before. I’m beginning to think that perhaps he used to be a prostitute in addition to being a musician. That would explain a few things. At first I thought I’d done something to offend him, because he mentioned getting better accommodations without a cellmate, but it seems that’s just something he did to get out of sharing a cell with unsavory prisoners in the past. I’m still a little worried though. He must be doing worse than I thought to feel hopeless enough to try such a thing.

He said he left me a note, though I hadn’t seen it as it was hidden with his other writing under the loose stone buried beneath his pile of straw. He made a show of burning it in front of me. I guess he didn’t want me to read it now that he wasn’t actually dead. I don’t know why he thought I would go rummaging through his things in his absence. Privacy is already a valuable commodity in this place without me violating his. Perhaps he’s not used to people being respectful of him.

Now that I think about it, I think I’ve got him figured out. I’m not surprised he would want to hide being a prostitute, but I’m not going to judge him for it. I’ve interacted with a few prostitutes in the past, and they weren’t bad people, just desperate. This situation is hardly conducive to making him any less desperate, but I don’t think he’s going to try seducing any more Dremora now that he knows it won’t work.

Read Fayrl's Corresponding Journal Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174872960771/entry-four-who-fetching-knows-what-time-is>

* * *

Day 16 (I think) since Fayrl’s arrival

Gods fetching dammit, I have that stupid ditty, “A Less Rude Song” stuck in my head for no reason. Is this part of my test? Am I doomed to have inane jingles bouncing through my head at odd hours? It’s such a stereotype. Fayrl says it’s not all wrong, but he’s not helping. Yes, Dunmer are kinky bastards who tend to have a stigma against nudity, but come on!

I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Now Fayrl’s stripped out of his pants and he’s singing it to annoy me, the little shit. At least his voice is nice, but if he’s not careful he’s gonna get the Dremora in here annoyed at us.

Oh good, he finally stopped.

Speaking of Fayrl, he has taken to cuddling with me at night. Honestly, it’s something of a relief to have contact with another living person after spending so much time with only the touch of the lash. It’s more comforting than I expected it to be.

It started because he was cold. It’s always cold here. It is Coldharbour after all. No amount of fire will warm a body here. It will burn, but it burns cold, like the touch of ice held too long against the skin. I think it’s just another method of torment concocted by the Lord of Domination. Molag Bal contains not a grain of passion in his entire being--he can’t, domination is about power, not Love--and his realm reflects this.

Oh that I were trapped in the realm of Boethiah instead of his greatest enemy! At least then I would be warm in the presence of the fire of Love. “The fire is mine: let it consume thee, and make a secret door at the altar of Padhome, in the House of Boet-hi-Ah where we become safe and looked after.”

But back to Fayrl. Last night he tried flattering me, telling me I smell good. He’s full of guarshit if he thinks I’m going to believe he’s sincere. He knows perfectly well that neither of us have had a proper bath since we got here. There are rotting corpses in the passages that nobody cares to clean up, and there’s always a pervasive scent of foulness in the air that I think is simply endemic to this realm. Maybe he just thinks I smell good in comparison, but I’m not buying it. I think he just wanted to give me a compliment and couldn’t think of anything better.

I’ve noticed that the more lucid prisoners seem to appreciate it when I ask to draw them. Some of them get angry at being witnessed in such a degraded state, but most do not care about anything at all, and the ones more sound of mind are grateful that someone is willing to pay attention to them. It is difficult to find enough time to sketch them without the Dremora noticing, and I’ve had to hastily discard more than one sketch, but I’ve made quite a bit of progress in my endeavor to document life in Coldharbour. I’m rather proud of it.

Read Fayrl's Corresponding Journal Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174886160954/entry-five-early-week-two-ive-still-had-very>

* * *

Day 19? since Fayrl’s arrival

I think Fayrl might be falling in love with me, but I’m not sure. I really hope he’s not. I really hope I'm imagining it. I’ve had things happen like this before, and it only made me feel like a real arsehole when I had to admit that the feelings weren't reciprocated in that way. We’re in a bad enough situation as it is without alienating him.

He and I had something of a moment last night. He asked me to hold him, and I suddenly felt very protective of him. He started complimenting me, telling me how glad he was that I was there. His tone of voice felt very suggestive and intimate, and he was pressed right up against me, so when my body started reacting to it, I moved away. I didn’t want to lead him on. I must have been misreading the situation though, because after that his tone of voice didn’t sound nearly as suggestive, and seemed much more casual to me.

There’s definitely a sexual tension between us of some kind though. This is starting to remind me of that situation with Gilse. It’s starting to-- You know what, I might as well write out the story for posterity. Who knows how long I’m going to keep my sanity in this place. Better to have the memory written out than not to have it. I had made friends with a newly assigned member of the Buoyant Armigers named Gilse. She was sweet, and she seemed to like me a whole lot. We were assigned to the same mission, and it turned out the Daedric cult that we were supposed to be scouting was much more hostile than we had expected. The other members of the squad got killed in an ambush, and she and I were captured. I have no idea what they planned to do with us, but Gilse and I were able to untie each others’ bonds by scooting together back to back. 

We escaped, and hid deeper in the Daedric ruin behind a door that the cult hadn’t seemed to have discovered which was mostly obscured by fallen stone. We decided to wait until nightfall to make a break for it. It was a long wait, and a tense one, so when she kissed me and asked me to take her, I complied. I thought it was just spurred on by relief at being alive and a need to relieve the tension of the situation, but apparently it meant more to her than that.

When we finally made it out of the ruins we reported back to the Captain in Molag Mar, and she sent a full unit to clear the ruin, but neither Gilse nor I were sent with them. I mourned my fallen comrades and continued my life as usual, thinking everything was going to be alright. I kept an eye on Gilse to make sure she was not too traumatized by the experience, but spent most of my time with my closer friends in the Armigers, with whom I also happened to be non-romantic lovers. 

A few days later Gilse confronted me in tears. I was very confused at first until she told me that she had been falling in love with me, and had thought that our experience meant that I felt the same. She had thought we were going to be romantic partners, that we were going to be exclusive. I had to tell her that I did not feel the same way about her, and that I couldn’t be exclusive with her. She did not take it well. She accused me of trifling with her feelings. Our friendship never really recovered.

Afterward I did some soul searching and spoke to a friend of mine who is quite knowledgeable about such things, and realized that my main mistake was in agreeing to have sex with her in the middle of a traumatic situation. Situations like that leave people feeling more vulnerable than they normally do, and their emotions get easily mixed up in the heightened tension. Since then I’ve tried my best not to give anybody the wrong impression about my romantic availability, and I make it a general rule not to take new lovers during situations with heightened emotions. It hasn’t stopped all misunderstandings of that nature, but I think it’s been helpful.

Needless to say, I’m not going to be sleeping with Fayrl while we’re both prisoners like this, no matter how attractive I find him. I don’t want to cause any misunderstandings and risk alienating the only friend I have here. Plus, I’m rather worried about his mental health after his attempt to seduce the Dremora, and I don’t want to make it any worse for him.

Read Fayrl's Corresponding Journal Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174898702129/entry-six-a-few-days-since-last-writing>

* * *

Day 20 (probably?) since Fayrl’s arrival

The longer I’m here in Coldharbour, the less I miss my home. That’s not a comforting thing. It disturbs me greatly. I’ve lost track of exactly how long I’ve been in Coldharbour, and I am worried that I might forget the little details of my home. The memories are starting to turn vague, like they happened in a dream or in another life. I wonder if it is an effect of Coldharbour, or if it is an effect of losing my soul? Either way, I’ve realized that I must start drawing out all the little details from home that I want to remember before they fade completely. 

I spent most of the last of my paper trying to remember the face of my good friend Gethan, from Vivec City. I’ve drawn him often enough that it should be easy to draw him from memory, but it’s not. I’m going to have to get more paper, and soon. I have a lot of drawing to catch up on.

Read Fayrl's Corresponding Journal Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174903930748/entry-seven-sometime-around-two-or-two-and-a>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. It contains links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be one of a rare few chapters not in journal format.
> 
> Chapter contains death and graphic violence.

Tel stumbled back into their cell and the Dremora slammed the door behind them. It had been a bad shift. Tel had been caught stealing paper, and had been whipped within an inch of his life.

He fell to his knees in the center of the cell, panting in pain.

Fayrl went to Tel's side as soon as the Dremora were out of earshot. “By the Three, they really took it out on you, didn’t they? I’d normally offer you a flask of whiskey and a healing potion, but being dead has its drawbacks. Anything I can do to help soothe your wounds?”

“It… It’s fine.” Tel tried to look over their shoulder at the whip lashes on their back and sucked in a breath. “Gods, that looks bad, but I think I can heal it. I wish I had some food. Healing always drains my energy.”

“I don’t have anything to give you now. But you can have my breakfast in the morning if it will help.” Fayrl looked over the whip marks, it called to mind his time passing through Dres territories and the Telvanni slave camps in Black Marsh. “I wish I had my salves on me,” he muttered under his breath.

“I… thanks, but you need your energy as well.” Tel put his hands on his shoulders and concentrated. The lash wounds closed under a glowing light, and Tel rotated their shoulder blades experimentally. “Does it look bad? I don’t think there’s anything I can do if it messed up my tattoos.”

Fayrl watched the flesh grow and rejoin. He examined the tattoos, they weren’t exactly as they had been. “They aren’t too bad off. Not perfect, but it could certainly be worse.” He ran a soothing hand over the recently healed flesh.

Tel closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “You know, this sounds awful, but I’m glad you got picked to be my cellmate.”

Fayrl laughed, then covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the noise. “I’m relieved you’re who I had to share my cell with as well.” He leaned up against Tel’s side. “I only wish we had a few bottles of liquor and a plush couch to recline on.”

Tel glanced at Fayrl out of the corner of his eye, then jumped in alarm as a door in the adjacent chamber banged open, and the sound of mortal and Dremora cries filled the air.

“What on Nirn…?” Tel ran to the bars of their cell door and peered through the darkness. Their Dremora guards were bolting toward the exit where a crowd of unrestrained prisoners were pouring through brandishing makeshift weapons. At the head of the crowd, Tel spotted the tallest woman he had ever seen fighting back to back with an Argonian.

“What’s going on?” asked Fayrl standing and coming up to Tel’s side.

“Prison riot! Dear gods, this might actually get us somewhere! We have to get them to let us out of here!”

Fayrl’s heart lightened. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up too high, but it was hard not to. Even if things didn’t succeed, he could always slip away by turning invisible. And perhaps he could get his hands on a blade or two.

Tel dove for the pile of straw under which he had been keeping their journal pages and drawings hidden, and rolled them into a tight cylinder, tying the pages closed with a piece of loose string from their ragged clothing and securing the whole bundle to the waistband of his pants.

He returned to the bars of their cell and watched the mob progress. The few Dremora guards were losing ground.

“Hey!” yelled Tel. “Let us out! We can help!”

The tall woman turned and made a push for their cell. “Stand back!”

Tel and Fayrl stepped back from the door, and the tall woman bashed in the lock with her axe. There was a shower of sparks and the woman pushed the door open. “The name’s Lyris. I hope you’ve still got some fight left in you. You’re going to need it.” There was a cry behind her and the woman turned around just in time to parry a blow from one of the few remaining Dremora.

Fayrl moved in a flash and appeared behind the Dremora, grabbing his wrist and twisting, struggling, even with the shadows of invisibility keeping him hidden. He managed to catch him just off guard enough to yank his sword free of his hand. Finding himself suddenly weaponless, the Dremora turned and punched in the direction of Fayrl’s invisible form, catching him square in the jaw and knocking him off his feet.

Lyris gave a hair-raising warcry and swung her axe down onto the Dremora’s shoulder, staggering him.

Seeing an opportunity, Tel called his magic to themself, feeling his hands slip into the familiar invocation positions with ease. The spirit of a cliff strider shrieked into existence above the Dremora’s head and dove, clawing at the Dremora’s face.

Fayrl held his jaw as he pulled himself back to his feet. He took a deep breath and rushed back at the Dremora, spreading a net of spider web over him while lunging at his back.

Beset on all sides, the Dremora lashed out with a yell, dispersing the cliff strider spirit Tel had summoned and kicking at Fayrl’s webs. His foot stuck, and Lyris used his momentary confusion to decapitate the disoriented Daedra. He staggered and fell. Lyris straightened and scanned the room for more enemies, but the rioting mob of Soul Shriven had dispatched them all.

Tel ran forward to Fayrl. “Are you alright?”

Fayrl smiled, giving the sword a look over. It felt good in his hand. It was well forged and gave him a feeling of security. It was power and freedom in his hand. “I feel much better with this little thing in my hand. It’s no lute, but I think I can do something beautiful.”

He turned to get a better look at their rescuer and realized that the tall woman was not deathly pale like the rest of them. “You’re alive!”

Tel glanced between Fayrl and Lyris. “You know her?”

Fayrl shook his head. “But look at her! She’s not pale and her eyes aren’t white. She’s still living.”

“Right. I wasn’t sacrificed.” Lyris hooked her axe to her belt and looked around at the crowd of Soul Shriven. “I was brought here… conventionally, if that makes any sense. But I’m a prisoner here, same as you.”

The Argonian Tel had noticed before walked up to Lyris. “We can’t stop now. We need to keep moving. More guards are on the way.”

“He’s right,” Lyris said. “Get everyone who’s still responsive out of those cells and follow me. If you’ve got a weapon, keep it ready and stay sharp. This place is full of surprises.”

Fayrl nodded to Lyris. “I’m right behind you.” He turned back to Tel. “We have numbers and the advantage of surprise. Don’t know how long it takes those Daedra to regenerate, but I assume we have limited time until they raise the alarm.”

Tel pressed his lips together and nodded firmly.

The crowd of Soul Shriven bashed the doors to the rest of the cells open, and Lyris led the mob into the next room, where they swarmed a lone Dremora that had been loitering. The mob quickly dispersed pieces of its armor to those who were strong enough to wear them.

Tel fell in step beside the Argonian who seemed to be Lyris’ second in command. “What’s the plan?”

The Argonian shook his head. “Ask her,” he said, nodding at Lyris. “My plan is to keep moving and avoid the guards, but she might know more about what’s going on around here.”

An Orc woman on the Argonian’s other side punched her hand and bared her teeth. “I say we give those bastards as good as they tried to give us!”

“I wish I could gut that Altmer who ran a dagger through my chest,” said Fayrl. “Feed him back to the Dremora who have been serving him.”

A glowing figure appeared in front of the group, and a hush fell over the crowd of Soul Shriven.

“The Prophet!” Lyris exclaimed.

“Greetings Vestiges,” said the glowing old man. “Like you, I am a prisoner in this place. You must rescue me. And I, in turn, must rescue you.”

Tel took a step toward the old man’s projection. “Where are you? You know how to get out of this place?”

The glowing figure faded before Tel could finish speaking.

Fayrl stared at the fading afterimage of this so-called Prophet. He felt as though he was missing some essential part of the goings on around him, though honestly his biggest concern was to get out of this alive. And if possible, help Tel get out too. The guy had been pretty nice to him after all.

Lyris raised her voice. “Hold a moment. Gather around, we need to talk.”

The Soul Shriven crowded closer and Lyris cleared her throat. “That was the Prophet. He’s a prisoner here too. It was very dangerous for him to speak to you, even for a moment. He must think you can help me.”

“Help you what?” the Orc woman beside Tel asked.

“Break him out, of course! Believe me, I can use all the help I can get. That blind old man is the only person alive who can help us get back home. Tamriel’s a long way from here.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” said Tel. “If he can get us out of Oblivion, I’m in.”

“How do we start?” asked the someone else at the back of the group.

Lyris pointed at the closed door across the room. “These tunnels will eventually take us to the Tower of Eyes. That’s where we’ll find the Sentinels.”

“The what?” asked the Orc.

“Magical constructs created by Molag Bal to guide his vision in Coldharbour,” Lyris explained. “The Sentinels are connected. If we destroy one, the others will be blinded. With any luck, that will buy us the time we need to free the Prophet.”

“Well that’s a design flaw,” Tel remarked. “How are we supposed to destroy these things?”

“I’ve no idea.” Lyris ran a hand through the front of her hair. “Brute force? We’ll find a way. We have to. Be ready for anything. I doubt Molag Bal left the Sentinels unguarded.”

“I was hoping she’d have more of a plan than that,” Fayrl whispered to Tel, “but I’ll take any chance to get out of here and back home.”

He noticed a few eyes on him. “So who exactly is the Prophet anyhow?” he asked Lyris. “A great wizard? A politician?”

“He’s a strange one, no doubt about it, but he’s the wisest man I’ve ever met. He sees things. The past, the future.”

“So a seer then,” Tel murmured.

“Wait,” a young Breton man at one side of the crowd piped up. “I died. I remember dying. Are we all dead?”

Lyris gave the man a sympathetic glance. “Yes. You’re dead. You’re all dead. I’m sorry.”

“If we’re dead, who killed us?” asked the Orc woman next to Tel.

“A man named Mannimarco,” Lyris answered.

“He’s an Altmer, isn’t he?” asked Fayrl, his voice colder than it had been. He could picture the mer’s face in his mind even now. If he knew his name too then he might be able to do something about him. He had a contact in the Morag Tong. He could try and arrange things.

“Yes, he’s an Altmer. His Worm Cult is doing some kind of ritual back in Tamriel. They sacrificed you, and everyone in this prison, to the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. After you died, whatever was left showed up here. They call you the Soul Shriven.”

“What does that mean?” asked the young Breton in a tremulous voice.

“It means you’re a slave and you’ll spend the rest of eternity here in Coldharbour, working under the lash of the Daedra. Unless of course, you come with me.”

“Right,” said Tel. “Let’s get moving.”

Fayrl went to Lyris’ side. He was ready to get out of this place.

* * *

“Alright, the Tower of Eyes should be up that path.” Lyris gestured behind her. “We will have to be inconspicuous. We just got free of this place. The last thing we need is to get recaptured. I’ll take one or two of you with me, and the rest will wait here. Er-Jaseen, you’re in charge until I get back.”

The Argonian nodded and stepped back.

“Alright, as for the rest of you…” Lyris gave the group an evaluative stare. “Who’s had combat experience before now?”

A significant number of the group raised their hands, Tel and Fayrl included. Tel glanced at Fayrl in surprise.

“Alright,” Lyris continued, “and of those with combat experience, who thinks they can be stealthy?”

Fayrl stepped forward. “I can move unseen,” he said, gathering his shadows to himself and vanishing from view, reappearing behind Lyris a moment later.

“Excellent.” Lyris gave him a wry look. “I won't ask how you learned that skill.”

“I'll come too.” Tel stepped up to Fayrl’s side. “Not going to let you run into danger all by yourself,” he told him in a low voice.

Fayrl smiled. It seemed his charm had won him an admirer. If they both managed to escape and meet up again, he would have to take advantage of such admiration.

“Alright, we have our party. The rest of you stay sharp. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Er-Jaseen, a word.” Lyris took the Argonian aside.

“That’s a neat trick you have there,” Tel told Fayrl. “You’ll have to show me how to do that sometime.”

Fayrl put a hand on Tel’s shoulder. “Perks of my birth sign, I'm afraid. You'd be better off asking a mage how to use a similar spell. It comes in handy when you're living hand to mouth though, I can tell you that.”

Tel raised their eyebrows, but before he could comment, Lyris returned and clapped a hand on their shoulder. “Ready to go?” She looked at Tel and frowned. “You’re unarmed?”

“I know a bit of conjuration, but I'm not the best in close combat unless I have a quarterstaff. I'm better with a bow.”

An older Imperial woman stepped forward and handed Tel a broken-off broom handle. “Here. If I'm just going to be sitting around, you might as well use this. Just be a dear and bring it back, would you?”

Tel smiled and gave a half bow, accepting the makeshift quarterstaff. “You are very generous, muthsera. I am in your debt.”

The three embarked up the long winding path to the Tower of Eyes, dispatching the straggling Daedra on the path until they caught sight of an enormous glowing blue eye set atop a short pedestal. Its gaze darted too and fro, as though it was looking through the stones that surrounded it.

Lyris ducked behind a boulder. “I’ll keep watch.”

Fayrl crouched down beside her. “Do you think a sword is enough to take that eye down, Lyris?” He peered up at its erratic movements.

“I dunno, it looks kinda delicate to me,” said Tel. “And if a sword doesn't work, we could always try setting it on fire.”

Fayrl grinned. “That I can certainly do.” In a flash he was gone from view. He crept up the steep pathway towards the eye, his footsteps making no sound as he continued to the entrance of the stone encircled terrace in which the curious construct stood. Silently he readied his sword to strike.

The eye swiveled around to face away from Fayrl and he took the opportunity to slip up behind it. It turned almost all the way towards him again and he retreated to the side hastily to keep himself out of its line of view. It was quite likely that such a thing could see through his invisibility.

As soon as it paused its flickering Fayrl lunged forward, wreathing his blade in flame, and gouged the center of the eye with his full strength. He could feel tissue tear beneath his sword’s edge, and he twisted it until the eye burst.

A wave of energy dispersed from where the eye had been, leaving only an empty pedestal in its wake. Fayrl hoped that was a good sign as he rushed back down the path to where Lyris and Tel were waiting.

Lyris jumped out from behind the boulder as Fayrl approached. “Quickly! While he’s blinded, we must get to the Prophet’s cell!”

The three of them ran back down the path as fast as their legs could take them and met up with the waiting group of Soul Shriven.

“Quickly! This way!” Lyris gestured to the group, and they scrambled to follow her.

They picked their way across the rocky landscape of Coldharbour, meeting no organized resistance, and easily dispatching the sparse scattering of Daedra they encountered until they reached a metal gate. Lyris ran up to it, and a glowing blue ward flared to life on its surface.

“Fools!” An ominous deep voice boomed around them. “You will never escape my realm.”

“May Vivec preserve us and the Four Corners pass us by!” Tel whispered fervently. “It’s the Lord of Domination himself!”

Lyris banged on the gate in frustration, her fists bouncing uselessly off its glowing surface. “Herma-Mora’s wagging tongue! The door’s warded. We’ll never get in this way. Damn it! Destroying the Sentinel must have triggered these wards. We’ll have to find another way in.”

“Maybe someone here knows some way around,” said Fayrl. “There’s enough people here one of them might have some sort of information.”

Lyris’ face brightened. “You’re right! Maybe Cadwell can help us.”

“Who’s that?” Tel asked.

“He’s the oldest of the Soul Shriven. After years of torment, Soul Shriven usually go insane and turn feral, but not Cadwell. He was already insane before he left Tamriel. Mad as a box of frogs, but completely harmless. You’ll see.”

Fayrl gave Tel a nervous glance. “He was mad enough that a plane of Oblivion didn’t make him go mad and you think he will give us enough information to escape?”

“Cadwell sees things as he wishes them to be.” Lyris turned to Fayrl. “To him, Coldharbour is a wondrous place. It’s his home. And he knows it like the back of his hand. He’s usually down by the river. Let's go find him.” She turned and motioned for the group to follow her.

Fayrl gave Tel another look. “I hope she’s right. It would be worse than anything else if we failed here and now.”

Tel pressed his lips together. “Well it’s the best chance we’ve got. I certainly don’t know how to get out of Oblivion.”

After some hesitation, the group followed Lyris down the slope toward what appeared to be a small shanty town on the shore of the glowing blue river. As they approached, they could hear the sound of laughter, and see the flickering of the light of a bonfire on the sides of the motley collection of ramshackle tents and lean-tos.

Lyris directed them toward a figure wearing a pot on his head, currently occupied by playing the lute in front of the fire and singing off-key.

“One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead kings got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other, drew their bows, and stabbed themselves!”

Fayrl’s fingers itched to get the lute in his hands. The fact that the music kept going off-key didn’t help his desire to play instead. If the madman had a lute, perhaps he also had alcohol. He glanced around to see if he could see any bottles that looked like they might contain liquor or wine. He’d even take a fruit cordial if it meant something soothing on his throat.

Tel glanced back at the party behind them and then at the strange man by the fire.

“Hello, what’s this?” the man called to them. “Out for a stroll, then? Lovely day for it.”

Tel’s mouth quirked upward into a reluctant smile. “You must be Cadwell.” He stepped toward the man.

“Sir Cadwell, yes indeed. A pleasure! And fair Lyris! Good to see you, m’dear! How are you, then?”

Lyris grinned. “I--we have a little problem you might be able to help us with. We’re trying to get inside the Prophet’s cell. The door is sealed.”

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Cadwell shook his head. “Well that is inconvenient, isn't it? I’ll tell you what--I happen to know another way in! Much more of a scenic route. Rather a fun little jaunt, actually. Full of traps, and corpses, and nasty beasties filling up the bits in between.”

Tel shot Fayrl a nervous glance which Fayrl returned. He wanted that drink even more.

“Well, sounds like there’s nothing to worry about then,” said Fayrl in a sarcastic tone. “I’m sure there’s an easy way through all that. I take it, Sir Cadwell, you will lead us through all of this somehow?”

“Oh dear me, no! I’ve already accepted the engagement with these fine people for the day!” Cadwell leaned forward and whispered to Fayrl conspiratorially. “Besides, between you and me, poor Lyris is as mad as Sheogorath’s jammies. Heart's in the right place, I suppose. Says she’s got to rescue the Prophet to save us all from eternal torment. How an old blind man could do that is quite beyond me!”

Lyris rolled her eyes.

Fayrl laughed. “I suppose we're desperate for the help. And as you say, you're too busy today. We’ll give her a shot for now, what do you think?”

“That’s the spirit!” Cadwell grinned up at Fayrl. “Nothing like a good epic quest to get the blood pumping! In any case, follow the river. You’ll find the door to the undercroft at the water’s end. Once you’re inside, stick to the light, and you’ll find a ladder that will take you right up to the Prophet, straightaway. Do give him my best!”

“I will, Sir Cadwell,” Fayrl assured him. “Do you know the Prophet well?”

“Not personally, no. All I know is he’s an Imperial gentleman. Apparently he was once a powerful mage, but the years haven’t been kind. Lyris says he knows of a path back to Tamriel. I rather think that if one existed, I’d have found it by now.”

Tel blinked at the man. “You don’t think there’s a way out of here?”

“You know I hadn’t actually given it much thought. Anything’s possible, I suppose. Truth is, I’ve been here so long, this place feels like home. But a good uprising now and again is a pleasant diversion, so where’s the harm, eh?”

“Oh, I like your spirit, Sir Cadwell,” Fayrl responded jovially. “It’s only a shame you won’t be joining us for the excitement. You sure we can’t persuade you to just give us a head start?” He wanted to gauge how crazy this man actually was. He wasn’t sure if he trusted the Prophet any more.

“You know, if you’d asked me any other day, I would have jumped at the chance. I’m always up for a good romp around Coldharbour, you know. Unfortunately, I’ve already given these lovely people my word. Can’t very well go around making bad on my word now, can I? Best of luck, though. Do check in now and again, won’t you?”

“Oh, I understand,” said Fayrl with a downcast look. “We will miss you though. We’ll make sure to let you know how things go.” His voice was somber, but he had no intention of seeing Cadwell again unless something went horribly wrong with their escape attempt.

Lyris led the party down to the glowing blue river and followed the current along the bank until the shoreline became too rocky and vertical to proceed. Lyris made a face and waded into the sluggishly flowing goo.

Tel sighed and waded in after her. The substance around them wasn't water, something Tel had discovered early in his time in Coldharbour. It had the consistency of syrup; much more annoying than water to wade through.

They were immediately confronted by a trio of feral Soul Shriven. Tel had seen beings like this from a distance, but hadn't realized exactly how badly their bodies were falling apart. Their skin was sloughed off in raw patches, and their already tattered rags were so threadbare that Tel wondered why they bothered wearing them at all.

Fayrl tensed. These Soul Shriven reminded him of the zombies and draugr that lurked in tombs. His heart raced as he gripped his sword in both hands tight enough his knuckles were white.

The hostile Soul Shriven lunged at them, screaming in incoherent rage. They were quickly knocked out by the group. Tel flipped one who had landed face down in the glowing river and dragged her to shore so she wouldn't drown. There was no sense in adding to the suffering of these unfortunates.

Fayrl stared at the unmoving bodies after they had fallen, a part of him sure that they would stand back up at any moment. When it looked like they were all truly felled, he dashed over to Tel’s side, keeping Tel between him and the feral Soul Shriven.

The group followed the slow, winding path of the river until they came to a rocky overhang that then became a cave. Tel recognized the cave as the place he had appeared after that first, ill-fated escape attempt.

Lyris led them into the back of the cave, and toward a door that had been partially obscured behind some large rocks. “This must be it.” She tried the door. “Damn! Locked. Anybody know how to get this open?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Tel stepped forward and touched the lock. It clicked open. Tel turned and grinned at Fayrl. “Perks of _my_ birthsign.”

Fayrl gave a bright smile. “Lucky us!” He was still shaken about the feral Soul Shriven and the idea that their failure would mean that they would either be as mad as Cadwell, content to be in Coldharbour the rest of eternity, or they would become feral as well, mindlessly attacking even those like them. The thought chilled him to the core, beyond even what the natural coolness of Oblivion brought with it. He had to get out of here.

Lyris hesitated with her hand on the door. “Cadwell seems to think the undercroft is a delightful place. That probably means it’s a death trap. We’d better be careful.”

She opened the door and everyone filed in after her. They were immediately assaulted by a clannfear, which Lyris dispatched with a deft stroke of her axe. She nudged at it with the toe of her boot. “Ugh. This place stinks of death and decay.”

They continued through the winding cave, dodging flame traps and spikes. After one person got badly singed, Lyris rearranged the group to tackle the traps methodically.

Fayrl couldn't help but feel a tug of nostalgia. It was like the old days of exploring Dwemer ruins and ancient crypts. Slogging through such dark and reeking corridors was somehow comforting. This was something he had done before, something he knew how to do. Spotting the triggers was a task he had been trained in and even paid to do. More world encompassing matters were out of his skill set, but this, this he could do.

They were travelling along at a slow, but steady rate when a cry behind them made Tel glance back. The older Imperial woman to whom he had returned the broken broom handle had gotten caught on a rocky outcropping and been impaled by an unseen spike trap. Tel rushed back to her and cast a healer’s detection spell. The spikes had punctured her stomach. They withdrew into the wall, and the woman fell with a gurgle. Tel caught her and laid her gently on the floor. She was already unconscious.

“I… I don’t think there’s anything I can do…” He turned and gave Lyris a pleading look. “She’s fading fast. Even if I could stabilize her, she wouldn't be able to move.”

Lyris put a hand on Tel’s shoulder. “It’s alright. She won’t die, remember? She’ll reappear in a few hours and be perfectly fine. We can’t wait for her though. Let’s keep moving.”

Tel put their arms around themself miserably. “I hate being a healer.”

Fayrl turned his sword over in his hand. “Are we just going to let her die slowly from that? That kind of injury is long and painful to die from.”

He looked between Lyris and Tel. A part of him wanted to end the woman’s suffering, but he didn't want his new companions to think him cruel.

“You’re right.” Lyris looked grim. “She may be unconscious now, but it would be better if she didn’t wake up alone and in pain.” She pulled Tel back from the woman and swung her axe, decapitating the woman in one clean blow.

“It’s better that she felt no further pain,” Fayrl said in a low voice. He was thankful that Lyris had acted quickly and that he did not have to push to be the one to do it.

Tel whimpered. He hated this. It was his fault the woman wouldn’t be able to continue with them; his fault that the woman would wake up alone, and likely become captured by Dremora and put back to work again. She had been kind to them. It wasn’t fair. Tel picked up the woman’s fallen broom handle and sighed. It would be pointless to leave it behind. The woman would never be able to retrieve it from this place alone, assuming she even retained her freedom. Tel turned back to the group with a bleak expression on their face. “Alright, let’s go.”

They continued through the tunnel, more carefully this time. There were no more incidents, and they discovered the ladder Cadwell had spoken of. The group climbed up, one by one, until they all stood in the room above.

“The Prophet’s cage should be just ahead,” Lyris told them. “Quickly now! We haven’t much time.”

They passed through an open doorway and discovered a massive chamber arched with stone beams carved with Daedric sigils. Pools of the glowing blue substance stood about the floor, interspersed with circular platforms of stone, also carved with Daedric script. Dark soul gems sat in piles around the room, and circles of candles surrounded the remains of glowing rituals on the floor. In the center of the room floated a whirling bubble of energy which contained the restrained figure of an old man in a hooded robe.

Lyris stopped in front of the bubble of energy. “There’s a trick to opening the cell. The only way for a prisoner to leave is for another living soul to take their place. I need to swap places with the Prophet.”

“What?” The Argonian, Er-Jaseen, stepped forward and confronted Lyris. “You’re leaving us? There’s no other way?”

“Believe me, I wish there was. But… I don’t see anyone else here with a beating heart, do you?” Lyris glanced up at the bubble of glowing energy. The Prophet looked like he was in pain. “If Molag Bal isn’t stopped he’ll destroy everyone and everything we’ve ever loved.”

Fayrl looked around. No one seemed ready to take action. That never boded well. Lyris was clearly desperate. There was little choice. They needed to do this and fast. “So how do we activate this then? I assume there isn’t much time.” He hoped that this Prophet was going to be in good enough shape to help them get out of there. He was old, and clearly suffering. If the Three had any love for what was good, he hoped they would aid this small group.

“I’ll activate the transfer.” Lyris faced the Prophet, then glanced over her shoulder at the group behind her. “Trigger the pinions when they start glowing. Once it’s done, get moving. The Prophet will know where to go, but he’ll need your eyes, and your protection.”

Fayrl went to one of the strange, diamond shaped metal objects on either side of the platform. He peered at it, poking at it until he found a way to get it to move. “Tel, there’s another one on that side.”

Tel walked to the other side of the platform, and Lyris stepped into the center of the ritual circle. It glowed, and the little metal objects beside Tel and Fayrl opened like a blossom and began pouring chains of magicka at Lyris, lifting her into the air. She struggled against the sensation of weightlessness, flailing ineffectually.

Tel grabbed the glowing pinion and shoved its pieces together. “Now, Fayrl!”

Fayrl pressed the pieces together quickly hoping he had been fast enough that if there was an element of timing involved it would still work. Both pinions slipped into the square holes beneath them. There was a great roaring noise and a crackle of electricity as Lyris and the Prophet switched places. The Prophet went limp and fell to the ground, staggering, but upright, leaning on his staff.

“Freedom!” he gasped. “I remember this feeling. It will be fleeting though, if Molag Bal has his way.”

Tel hurried to the old man’s side and took his arm. The Prophet turned to face him with milky-blind eyes. “Thank the Divines, you are all safe. There is that, at least.”

Tel cast a glance down at the floor. “We lost one of our party in the tunnels on the way to your chamber. We could not wait for her to reappear.”

“It will have to be enough,” the Prophet told them. “Lyris sacrificed everything that we might go free. Her sacrifice must not be in vain.”

Er-Jaseen stepped up to the Prophet’s other side. “Is there no way for us to take her with us?” he asked in a low voice.

“I wish that were possible,” the Prophet responded. “But I promise you, once we escape Coldharbour we will find a way to rescue her together, Vestiges.”

“Vestiges?” the Argonian asked.

“That is what you are,” the Prophet explained. “You are but a trace of your former selves. Soulless ones. An empty vessel that longs to be filled. It is as the Scrolls foretold, but not exactly as I imagined.”

“But if we don’t have our souls, then where are they?” asked Fayrl. He did not even know if he truly wanted to hear the answer, but he needed to know.

“I imagine that Mannimarco has your souls in soul gems somewhere,” the Prophet replied in a grim tone.

Fayrl’s eyes narrowed. “The Altmer is going to pay for this.”

“In due time. Quickly now, we must make haste to an Anchor. I can use one to return us to Tamriel, but you must lead me to it.”

“Alright,” Tel responded. “Someone come take the old man’s other arm.”

Er-Jaseen hooked an arm under the Prophet’s, and the party began moving again.

“Up the stairs, to the Anchor mooring!” the Prophet urged them.

They crossed the room, past Lyris’ entrapped form, and helped the Prophet ascend the stairs.

“There it is!” the Prophet hissed as they passed through the doorway to the next chamber. “The Dark Anchor mooring! I can sense it!”

Fayrl spotted the Anchor. It was even more intimidating up close the ones he had seen looming over the horizon back in Cyrodil. But if Daedra could be sent to Nirn through such a passage, and if this Prophet was as powerful as Lyris had said, it might just work to take them back home. He wasted little time in scanning the enormous room, trying to make sure there were no traps about.

As they approached the base of the Anchor, a huge, spectral being made of smoke and fire materialized within the rings of the Anchor. “The mortals think they can defy me!” it boomed. “Futile. Soon your world will be in my chains.”

The monster waved its massive, taloned hand, and a creature made entirely of bones assembled itself in front of them. It lumbered forwards, blue flames shooting from the three fused skulls at its neck and from the joints between the bundled rib cages and spines that made up it’s arms. It seemed as though it was wearing armor made of bones, held in places by metal and strips of a leather, the source of which was likely better left unspoken. Huge boney spikes protruded from its back and shoulders and a cold dread seemed to radiate off of its frame in waves. Several members of their party screamed in terror and cowered. The others held up their weapons.

Fayrl raised his sword in a defensive stance. He hoped that the others had some fighting experience. Large creatures like this were always a challenge to take down, and the battles often had fierce collateral damage.

“Tel, get the Prophet somewhere safe and protect him. If he goes down, none of us are making it out of here alive.” Fayrl realized his poor choice of phrase after the words had already left his lips, but had neither the time nor the desire to correct them.

“No! I can protect you!” The Prophet ran forward, brandishing his staff. He wove a spell in the air and sent it hurtling toward the bone creature. The spell burst into blinding light on impact, and the creature recoiled.

Tel gave a shout and ran forward after the Prophet. “Old man, you are our only way out of here!” He summoned a cliff strider to attack the creature, and tried to herd the Prophet back toward the doorway.

There was a fierce cry behind them and the Orc woman ran past them with a pickaxe and launched herself at the bone creature. There was a resounding crack as she struck its upper thigh, and the rib cage that had been encircling the bundled bones of its leg went flying.

The creature shrieked in anger and made a grab for the woman, but she dove out of the way, and its hand met solid stone instead.

Fayrl called the shadows to him, this time creating two clones of himself. There was a time for secrets and restraint, and a time for survival, and this was most assuredly the latter. The two shades rushed forward swinging their swords at the creature’s legs. Fayrl put a hand to the ground and suddenly teleported behind the creature, thrusting his sword up into a kneecap, trying to limit the bone beast’s mobility.

“By the Divines, he’s onto something!” cried young Breton man. “Go for the joints! Let’s bring it down!” He ran forward, bashing at the other kneecap with his shovel, denting the metal as he broke off chunks of bone.

The bone creature took a great swing at the Breton and Fayrl’s shades. The Breton stepped back, and lunged to the side, driving his shovel into bone as though it were tough soil to be aerated. The shades ignored the creature’s attack, and its arm passed straight through them.

Er-Jaseen waved his sword in front of him and hissed through his teeth at the bone creature, standing in front of the Prophet and the rest of the party in a defensive stance.

The bone creature stomped the ground, causing it to tremble, and making several members of the party lose their footing. Tel steadied the Prophet and summoned another cliff strider, beginning a continuous stream of conjuration to summon cliff strider after cliff strider to bash the bone creature and weaken its leather bindings.

It screeched a grating howl and rushed at Tel, but intercepted Er-Jaseen instead. The Argonian drove his sword between the creatures bundled bones, then shouted in pain as the creature kicked him and sent him sprawling back with his leg bent at an unnatural angle.

Panicked, Tel called upon the spirits of a healing grove, sending spectral saplings shooting upward with a wave of healing magic. It was not a perfect solution; it would not set broken bones or restore lost blood, but it accelerated and fortified the body’s natural healing to an enormous degree, preventing anyone within its range from taking any more damage.

Fayrl raised his weapon. He focused on the vitality of the creature and his sword glowing red as he lept upwards, grabbing onto one of the ribs and hauling himself up its back. He threw the greater part of his body weight into the swing and he aimed for the creature’s shoulder.

The joint popped out and Fayrl hacked at the spot with his sword until the arm came off and fell to the ground.

The skeleton grabbed Fayrl with its remaining arm and tossed him across the room where he struck a large stone vase. He winced as he felt something crack in his chest. He didn’t have time to give in to the pain now. He dragged himself to his feet. He had to get back into the fray.

The Breton chipped away at the bone creature’s kneecaps with help of Fayrl’s shades and several other members of the party. “The Eight take you!” the young Breton hissed, digging his shovel between bones.

The Orc woman jumped forward again, joining the Breton, and with a crack of her pickaxe, the creature fell forward as one of its legs gave away. They switched to the other leg and made even faster work of that one.

The creature fell onto its face and began to scream as it clawed with its only remaining arm towards all in reach.

Tel ran forward and cracked his broken broom handle down on the creature’s arm, then deftly inserted the end of the makeshift quarterstaff into one of its eye sockets on its central head. With a grinding of bones Tel wrenched the entire skull free of the creature’s body. The glowing blue fires on its shoulders and joints flared wildly, then died completely, and the creature went limp.

The remaining party members ran forward and began ripping the creature apart, ensuring that it did not rise again. Fayrl smiled through gritted teeth, holding his ribs.

Tel sat down on the ground in front of the remains of the creature, panting in exertion and the remains of adrenaline. “Is everyone alright?” they called. “Argonian, sorry I didn’t catch your name, are you alright?”

There was a groan from behind him, and Tel twisted around to see the Prophet kneeling over the Argonian’s fallen form.

“He will live,” the Prophet told Tel. “I have tended his wound. Come, the rest of you, a moment, if you please.”

Fayrl took his hand from his ribs and turned his grimace of pain into a smile. “If he’s healed we should keep moving. We need to get out of here before they send anything else.”

“Indeed,” the Prophet said gravely. “The Dark Anchor’s portal is high above us. I will prepare a spell to lift us to it. But first, you must re-attune yourselves to Nirn in order to regain your physical form. To do this, you will need a skyshard.”

Tel blinked in surprise. He’d heard of skyshards before, but only as magical curiosities sought out by mages as external sources of magicka. “Why do we need one of those?”

“They are shards of pure Aetherial magicka that carry the essence of Nirn. Some link them to Lorkhan, the Missing God of creation. If you collect and absorb its power, it should restore your corporeal form. I will summon one for you all to absorb.”

The Prophet turned and walked past the fallen bone creature until he was standing in front of the Anchor. He raised his arms to the sky.

“Shard of Aetherius, fall upon us now and anoint us with your blessing!”

There was a crash and a sudden bright light, and a large crystal of blue magicka larger than any Tel had ever seen landed in front of the Prophet.

“There!” The Prophet’s voice sounded triumphant. “Quickly! Collect the skyshard.”

Tel stood and turned to help the fallen Argonian to his feet, leading him toward the glowing crystal. The rest of the party rushed past them and placed their hands upon its surface, gasping as it suffused their forms with glowing light, and their skin returned to health. Even their eyes were restored, no longer the milky white they had been.

Fayrl watched to see what would happen to the others before joining them. If this was some sort of elaborate ruse to crush hope even further, he did not want to be party to it.

As he watched, the others seemed to become… alive? Well, alive again perhaps. They looked vital. He turned to Tel. “Do you think this is real?”

“I think there’s only one way to find out.” Tel reached down and touched the shard along with the Argonian. Light filled their bodies as well, and Tel felt like laughing. He hadn’t realized just how much pain they had been in until it was suddenly no longer present. Tel felt as if they had suddenly been cured of a thousand maladies he hadn’t even realized he had.

“I… It’s real!” Tel turned back to Fayrl with a brilliant grin, dark amber-red eyes flashing in joy.

Fayrl felt like he was seeing Tel for the first time all over again. He took a deep breath and touched the stone himself, closing his eyes against the brightness and praying to the Three that this wasn’t the end of him.

The light filled him with a sudden warmth and took away a weariness he hadn't known had been aching within him. He took a deep breath and started coughing at the stab of his ribs.

The Prophet had not been idle. He stood facing the three upturned rings of the Anchor, staff raised in supplication. “Great Akatosh, Dragon God of Time!” he called, and his voice was filled with a power and authority it had not previously possessed. “I require your strength! Let the way be opened! Let these wandering souls return home! Let the will of Molag Bal be denied!”

The air glowed with magical power and the Prophet turned back to the group. “Hurry, we must go now!” He jumped into the open air below the Anchor and began to rise upwards to the portal.

Fayrl took a step backward. He looked around, waiting to see what the other people were going to do. He was not sure if he was ready to put his faith in the Prophet just yet. Where was the man going like that? Were they just supposed to jump out into that hole and hope they floated upwards?

Tel didn’t hesitate. “Come on!” they cried, “Before it closes!” He grabbed Fayrl’s hand and pulled him forward, up the steps to the edge of the platform. As soon as their feet touched the top step they began floating upward.

Fayrl grasped at Tel’s arm reflexively. He hated not being in control. Right now, this was multiple levels of being out of control. This whole time in Oblivion had just been a series of his greatest fears and dislikes coming true. It really was a slice of hell.

Tel gripped at Fayrl’s hand harder the higher they rose. Heights always made him dizzy. Heights were just the worst. He hated heights! Hated heights, hated heights, hated h--

They reached the portal and their bodies began to pass through to the other side. The whole world went white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. It contains links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


	5. Chapter 5

16th of Midyear

I can hardly believe it, I’m back in Tamriel! And it’s only been a week since I was captured in Mournhold! I don’t know how that’s possible, because I was imprisoned in Coldharbour for nigh on six weeks if my count of the days is accurate. I asked for paper as soon as I could. I don’t want to forget the faces of the people who helped Fayrl and I return to Nirn.

There was a prison riot. A tall Nord woman named Lyris broke me and Fayrl out of our cells, along with every other prisoner being held with us. We were contacted by the spectral projection of an Imperial mage who calls himself the Prophet. He promised us he could help us escape Oblivion if we set him free. His promise was good, but the security on his prison was such that Lyris had to sacrifice herself to free him. She was the only one who still retained her soul, and the only one who could activate the wards on the spell holding him. Her sacrifice means all of us were able to escape.

We couldn’t get to the Prophet’s cell at first. The Lord of Domination locked the gate to where he was being held, but Lyris directed to us to a man who I would hesitantly venture is as close to a local as a mortal can be in Coldharbour. He was quite the character. He called himself Sir Cadwell, and he appeared to be quite insane, but apparently benignly so. He was able to give us directions to another route to the Prophet’s cell. Yet another person we owe our lives to.

We escaped through a Dark Anchor. I’d never seen one before. Molag Bal did not let us escape without resistance; we had to fight an undead bone construct to get to the Anchor, but several members of our party turned out to be much more skilled at combat than I had expected, most notably Fayrl. I’ve never seen the spells Fayrl was using before. He summoned two shadow copies of himself to fight the bone creature alongside him. I’ll have to ask him where he learned such a skill.

Oh! And neither of us are Soul Shriven anymore! Well, we have not recovered our souls, but we no longer have the pallid skin and sunken white eyes that we had, and I certainly feel much more whole than I did before. The Prophet said we had to “re-attune ourselves to Nirn” and summoned a skyshard of all things to do it. I’ve only ever seen the things used as fancy (and quite frankly rare and overly expensive) alternatives to soul gems and magicka potions. He mentioned that they contained some kind of Lorkhanic energy that was required to exist in Nirn, which is a bit ironic considering that he also said they were shards of magicka fallen directly from Aetherius. How ironic it is that I, descendant of the Chimer, child of Veloth, AE ALTADOON GHARTOK PHADHOME CHIM, would find solace and preservation in a shard of pure Anuic power.

Fayrl and I were dumped into a lake after we went through the portal back to Nirn together, and a Bosmer by the name of Rialas (an acquaintance of Fayrl’s I think?) fished us out and took us back to someplace that I can only really describe as a glorified whorehouse. The Den, as they call it, is an interesting place. It merely confirms my suspicion that Fayrl is indeed a prostitute by trade. When we arrived, we were ushered into what appeared to be a tavern combined with an eatery and a burlesque theater. The music and lights and dancing and chattering and cheering and bustling and clinking of cutlery and scents of perfumes and alcohol and cooking was all a bit overwhelming. A Khajiit rushed forward to greet us and dressed both me and Fayrl in strange new clothes and gave us food. Food! I’ve spent so long on the brink of starvation that I couldn’t recognize the sensation of being full and nearly ate myself sick.

Also Fayrl has a husband? He never mentioned him before. He said he was engaged to a Bosmer, and then he mentioned having a husband, so I assume that his husband is Bosmer, but I don’t know. We were in a bit of a rush.

There were so many introductions, and I was so overwhelmed that I think I’m going to have to ask them all to be repeated again in the morning. I’ve retreated to the room they’ve given me now and laid out all my old journal entries and drawings to dry after our dunk in the lake. I’m worried that some of them might not be salvageable, but I shall do my best to reconstruct all the pictures even if it means I have to redraw them.

I think… I might be in Valenwood. I’ve never seen trees this big before. It was a bit dark, so I couldn’t really tell what was around me, but I had the impression of trees with trunks as large as houses. I’ll have to take a look around in the morning. Right now, that bed is too tempting to avoid any longer.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174935197299/16th-or-is-it-the-17th-now-of-midyear>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/174938469667/16th-of-midyear>

* * *

17th of Midyear

I’ve made a horrible, terrible mistake. I saw the cutest kitten in an adorable, tiny outfit and I was so delighted, I wanted to pet it, so I asked who it belonged to and who had put it in such a cute outfit, and Fayrl just got the most horrified look on his face, and he just said, “Tel, that’s Qau-dar’s daughter!” Qau-dar being Fayrl’s Khajiit friend to whom I had just finished explaining what had happened in Coldharbour.

I should back up.

I don’t know what Fayrl’s up to, trying to pass off his three  _week_  imprisonment in Coldharbour (with all the lash scars and starvation to go with it) as a three  _day_  drinking binge that culminated with him getting robbed and dunked in the lake, but I fear it is more self destructive nonsense. If he’s not going to tell his friends what really happened to him, then I am.

When I woke up this morning–or rather, sometime around noon, judging by the angle of the light–I went to find Fayrl and found him in conversation with his Khajiit friend. I asked the Khajiit if I could have a private word alone, and then told him the whole story, about how Fayrl and I were both captured by cultists of Molag Bal and sent to Oblivion where time seems to work differently, and how we were starved, and forced into hard labor, and whipped. I told him how we had escaped, and that I was worried about Fayrl’s health, mental and physical, because of our ordeal. I asked him if he could arrange to have Fayrl see a skilled healer, because I’m certain that my healing was not nearly as good as it should have been given my weak condition, and that I could certainly stand to see a healer as well.

He was nodding, so I think he agreed, but I have a little bit of a hard time understanding his accent, so I’m not sure exactly what he meant. And then of course I had to go and open my fool mouth and insult his daughter.

Lesson learned. Do not comment on any small kittens in cute outfits. They might be Khajiit.

I retreated back to my room in embarrassment, but not before I was able to ask some of the people in the halls where I could get some art supplies. I think they were being condescending, because they gave me chalks designed for children, but no matter. Art supplies are art supplies. It’s enough to craft an apology.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174963653289/17th-of-midyear-sundas>

* * *

18th of Midyear

Uuuugh. Qau-dar hated the drawings. Or rather, I think he liked them until I apologized, and then he turned cold and accused me of trying to buy his forgiveness. What was I supposed to do? Present my apology empty handed? That would be the height of rudeness! I would never in my life consider apologizing without even so much as a flower as a token of sincerity! …was the gift too much? Not enough? Did he just not want to forgive me for my accidental insult? I don’t know. Khajiit are a mystery to me.

At least the little Khajiit–Khes everyone calls her–liked hers. Sort of. Fayrl told me that she said it needed more fire and mammoths. I have never seen a mammoth before, so I am going to have to go find one so I can get a good look at it.

Fayrl came to talk to me while I was drawing. He wanted to talk about our experience in Coldharbour. I was hesitant at first. He doesn’t seem the type of person that likes to talk about feelings, so I suggested that maybe we should see a healer instead. It’s a healer’s job to ensure the health of the mind as well as that of the body. He told me he didn’t want to talk about what had happened to us to anyone else because they would probably think we are crazy. I pointed out that wasn’t necessarily true, especially if we found someone who is experienced with matters of Oblivion, such as someone in the Mages Guild, but Fayrl wouldn’t have it.

We talked a long time, discussing what had happened from our own individual perspectives. He was asking the sorts of questions that make me wonder if he has some experience with military style debriefings. As I thought though, Fayrl did not want to speak about his feelings without prompting, and even then he was vague.

The conversation was still productive though. When discussing how this experience might affect my life, he offered to lend me the money to hire a courier to send a letter back home to let the Captain know that I’m not dead. Oh but apparently Fayrl didn’t realize I was in the Buoyant Armigers. I don’t know how  _that_  happened. I’ve been talking about them constantly.

A letter might take a few months to get there, but it’s better than nothing. I think I will do by best to salvage my writing from my imprisonment, and send a fresh copy back to the Captain along with a my explanation and a few of the drawings. The water damage isn’t  _too_  bad.

I asked Fayrl about his ability to create shadow copies of himself. He said he had learned to manipulate his birthsign in an unusual way to perform the ability. I’m not sure if I believe him. I’ve never heard of something like that before. If he didn’t want to tell me where he learned it, he could have just said so instead of making something up.

I did find out that he is not married to a Bosmer like I had thought, instead he is married to Qau-dar. At one point, Fayrl started flirting with me, and I may have freaked out a bit. I told him that cheating on his husband is probably the worst reaction to a traumatic incident I’ve ever seen. He just laughed. They apparently have an open relationship. Also apparently Fayrl considers little Khes to be his daughter in spirit. I am mortified.

Fayrl also reminded me about the Green Pact of the Bosmer. I was horrified to hear that the rumors I had heard about Bosmer eating people are not in fact exaggeration. Fayrl tried to play it down, but he acknowledged it. He told me not to harm what he called the Green. I can’t eat, or even so much as disturb any plants or mushrooms (I asked) while I am in Valenwood. I’m going to have so much trouble making paints around here. I may have to buy them. This is enemy territory, I can’t afford to have anyone even think I’m violating their laws. I also have to keep being a Buoyant Armiger a secret. Fayrl wants me to pose as a full-time artist instead.

Speaking of which, he and I have come to an arrangement about traveling together. He said he is going back to Morrowind soon, and I may accompany him if I fill in for a missing party member of his. Fayrl is completing some kind of mission for a noble he offended in exchange for his freedom. He needs me to complete his party so that he does not fail his mission. He didn’t specify what the mission was, but he said he had already completed it. I’ll have to ask him for more details later.

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/174981693927/17th-of-midyear>  
Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/174997776814/18th-of-midyear-morndas>

* * *

 

 

18th of Midyear

I think I’ve perfected this method of making paint with egg yolk and crushed chalks, and I borrowed a paintbrush and some more cups from one of the Bosmer in the kitchen. I’m quite pleased with the quality of vellum available here, though I wish I had access to larger sizes.

I asked Fayrl if he could get me some sanitary pads, and then I had to explain about Lord Vivec’s boon. His reaction was delightful at first, but I think he might be bitter that he does not have the opportunity to have children with his husband in the way that I could.

I’m going to need more than just sanitary pads. The number of material possessions I can currently lay claim to can be counted on one hand. I feel like I’ve asked for so much already though. I’d rather not be a burden to my new traveling companions. I’ve made a few drawings I can sell so I can buy myself a proper set of clothes and some toiletries.

I picked subjects I thought would appeal to the Bosmer, like animals they might not have seen before, and landscapes from Morrowind that are quintessentially Dunmer. Hopefully the novelty fetches me a good price.

* * *

19th of Midyear

I can’t believe I’ve been loitering around inside the whole time I’ve been here and only just started exploring this marvelous place! Nirn is so bright! So warm! So beautiful! No wonder the Lord of Domination desires it for himself. He knows only darkness and pain. He is incapable of anything else. It is ironic that such a Padomaic being is incapable of changing himself. He merely incites others to change.

I went out exploring today. I stepped out the front door of the establishment with my small bundle of paintings and found myself in a tangle of roots so dense it was nearly a cave. I followed the sunlight out, making note of my route so I could find my way back, and once I had extracted myself from the warren of woody tendrils riddled with businesses of questionable legality and persons of dubious benignity, I found myself looking up at what must be the largest tree on all of Nirn, from underneath which I had just emerged.

Of course I’ve  _heard_  of Elden Root before, but to see it with my own eyes! It just makes me realize how far from home I actually am. I don’t think I’d believed that I was all the way across Tamriel until I saw it for myself in the light of day. I’m out of Coldharbour, but at what cost?

The question that hangs heavy on my mind is, have I passed the trial yet? I lost my soul in the process. I died. I survived somehow, but I died twice.

I cannot consider the trial complete. I am still being tested. How can I pass without a soul? I must reclaim it somehow. Failing that, I must make my mark on Nirn and make it all the more beautiful for my presence. Perhaps I can do both.

In contemplating my art I realize that I have primarily limited myself to the real, seeing expressionism as poetry, but accuracy as more valuable in my line of work. A hundred years of painting have taught me to accurately render the memory of a moment from a few strokes of charcoal. I can use my accuracy to benefit the Armigers and Morrowind by conveying what something looks like, what someone looks like, what a place of importance looks like. I valued precision over expression. No longer; I have lost my soul and I must piece it together from the shattered remains of my life. My skills are useless without purpose, my talent wasted without that spark of divinity. I must express emotion through line and color. I must leave my mark on the world. I must convey thought with the gesture of my brush, and declare to the world what it is to be myself.

What a sheltered life I have led! I thought I had known pain, known sorrow, but not so. I had never felt pain like this before, and it only makes me appreciate the beauty and joy of the world all the more. I must convey this. I have seen beauty, yes, but I have been through the worst of the four hells and survived. What is darkness without light to contrast it? What is happiness without sorrow to make us appreciate it? I must layer joy with pain, beauty with repulsiveness, refinement with corruption, so that others might understand and learn to appreciate the important things in life.

Others should not have to experience what I have to gain the knowledge I now bear.

I was able to sell all of my paintings to a merchant of foreign imports who plans to resell them, and bought new clothes with some of the money. I fit in more now, but I keep craning my neck up to see the canopy in an attempt to comprehend the utter hugeness of this tree. I actually walked into the lake on accident in the process. I probably look a complete fool, but I’m not sure I care. My mind is whirling with more thoughts than I can keep track of.

The sunlight only lasted for a few hours. The early afternoon brought rain and mud with it and I headed for the interior of the tree to explore there instead. There are apparently three main landings, but I have only been to the first so far.

My mind keeps returning to this idea of reclaiming my soul through art. I am sure any mystic would tell me that is not the way that souls work, but while I’m no mage or enchanter, I know enough about spiritual mysticism to know that what I am now should not be possible. Perhaps I can find a Daedrologist or specialist in enchanting who might be able to advise me on some means of reclaiming my corporeal soul.

I still feel the hollowness of its absence. It is subtle, like I am not quite in the place I am physically occupying, like I can feel some other environment behind the perception of my senses. Wherever my soul is, I think it is cold, but perhaps I am merely imagining the sensation.

Even if I did acquire the soul gem in which my soul was trapped, how would I return it to my body? This body I wear is not even made of the same raw stuff that came from my mother’s womb. The more I think about it, the more hopeless my situation seems, and yet I still feel such a profound relief to be free of the tortures of Coldharbour that even the smallest shred of happiness feels like a beam of light in a dark room. The thought of moving people with my art makes me happy. The thought of influencing people with my art, of provoking joy, or awe, or thoughtfulness, or any strong emotion that leaves a lasting impression, the thought makes me happy.

For beautiful paintings, I want to take the viewer’s breath away. I am rebuilding my soul by creating what is beautiful in the world. If I do not inspire awe or admiration, I have failed as an artist. My dearest dream is to move a viewer to tears.

For darker paintings, I want to purge myself of evil. I want to depict the grotesque in a manner that is both uncomfortable and beautiful. My experiences have been awful, but they are mine, and I must make them mine in every way.

Finally, as much as possible, my art should depict the real. The truth is often more raw and more painful than conciliatory lies, more relevant than fantasy, and more immediate than the palliative cushion of metaphor and euphemism. I could hide my truth behind layers of interpretation and poetry for only the dedicated to find, and I may yet decide to do so, but for now at least, I need the world to see me without the delay of translation. My art is the most truthful record of my experiences I could create, and I need it to be accurate. This is my soul I am making. Right now, I feel raw and immediate, and I doubt that will go away any time soon.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175064232649/19th-of-midyear-tirdas>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175052999012/19th-of-midyear>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. It contains links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


	6. Chapter 6

20th of Midyear

I’m in shock. I can’t believe Fayrl would betray me like this. I don’t know what I ever did to warrant Fayrl’s blatant lies, even as far back as our first meeting in Coldharbour. Almost everything he has told me has been a lie.

I had just come back inside from another day of exploring the area around Elden Root. I’d lost my shirt due to a run in with some small, mischievous, but otherwise friendly mammals I don’t know the name of (I drew a picture of them at least, maybe someone can help me identify them) when I overheard Lillandril, the Altmer guide Fayrl has hired, chewing out a small Imperial woman for nearly giving away the presence of a secret menu of vegetables to a Bosmer client. Amazingly, the mer managed to keep on his stage persona the entire time, and didn’t even break when I started talking to him. I suppose he needs to remain in practice. I’m sure coming up with such a wide variety of insults is a difficult task. I would be impressed if I weren’t so upset by this new development with Fayrl.

I wasn’t able to get much information from the Altmer about how I could gain access to the secret menu, but the mer let slip some very interesting information in the meantime. Fayrl has a wife, Urtisa, with whom he is apparently estranged, and has a natural born son with her. I was surprised because he hadn’t mentioned her, so I prodded for more information, and what should come out but that Fayrl is actually a high ranking Indoril noble of the Indoril family proper! The mission on which he has been sent is actually some sort of diplomatic mission. His marriage to Qau-dar also seems to be in contention of some kind, which I can understand if he was unable to have his previous marriage annulled or dissolved. As he has a son with her, I can understand that much.

Finally, to top it all off, the guide hasn’t even been hired to take the party back to Morrowind, but to Skyrim instead! I don’t particularly want to go to Skyrim! Fayrl did promise that he was headed to Morrowind, but I’m beginning to have my doubts!

Of course, Fayrl had warned me about the Altmer’s notorious untrustworthiness. I suspected that he might be crafting an elaborate lie for me for some purpose beyond my comprehension, so instead of prematurely confronting Fayrl about something that might turn out to be a hoax, I went to find Fayrl’s manservant, Ulyn, instead.

It was difficult to get him to talk to me at first. That mer is as stuck up and rigid as any House mer I’ve ever seen, but I strongly implied that I already knew everything about the mission and Fayrl’s family and everything else that Lillandril had hinted at, and pretended to be trying to make friends with Ulyn for the duration of our travels together, and Ulyn eventually opened up.

As I feared, he confirmed everything that Lillandril had said. Fayrl does indeed have a wife and son, and is in fact from the Indoril family line, and of a significantly higher status than I had suspected, and the mission is in fact diplomatic. The only good piece of news I could garner is that Ulyn is under the impression that they are heading back to Morrowind, not Skyrim.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this information. I’ll confront Fayrl about it I suppose. I wish I knew more about what this mission they’re on is actually about. I think I will attempt to gather more information from Qau-dar about it first before I approach Fayrl.

What I don’t understand is why he decided to craft such an elaborate lie for me from day one. He said he was a travelling bard from a small village in Deshaan, and that he often sent money back home to his parents. Obviously none of that is true. If his parents are of the Indoril bloodline, they have no need for more money. I discovered that Fayrl is a prostitute, but I’m even beginning to doubt that. Why would a noble of the Indoril family line be a prostitute? Especially while on a diplomatic mission? Nothing about it makes any sense.

I really hope that Qau-dar has answers for me.

Read Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry (written just before his exchange with Tel) Here: <http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/post/175073973332/20th-of-midyear-2e-582>  
Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175096143009/21st-of-midyear-turdas>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175117477397/21st-of-midyear>

* * *

 21st of Midyear

Qau-dar did not have answers for me. In fact, I think he either doesn’t know enough Cyrodiilic Common to understand my questions, or he’s playing me for a fool. I sat down to speak with him, and even offered to help him with his sewing, but all of my questions led to him rambling on about the stars and the patterns on the clothes of someone named Fado, and when he started trying to tell me the origin of the universe according to the Khajiit I finally gave up and went to paint with Khes.

I tried talking to Rialas as well, but after all the flattery and fawning needed to hold his attention, and a very uncomfortable conversation in which he sat in my lap and called me “pellan” a lot (n’chow, I forgot to ask Fayrl what that word means), all I could get out of him was that he wasn’t actually  _in_ Elsweyr with the party like I had thought.

With all readily available avenues of inquiry exhausted, I decided to just go confront Fayrl himself. It went something like this:

I knocked on the door to the room he and his husband have been sharing, and sat down on the bed. I asked him if I had done something to offend him when we had first met, and he didn’t know what I was talking about. That just made me angry, so I asked him again if I had done something to make him dislike me, or distrust me, or otherwise think I would harm him. He still didn’t know what I was talking about and asked if I was going to make him guess what I was accusing him of. I told him I had been nothing but friendly to him the entire time we have known each other, and that I had helped him survive Coldharbour, only to discover that he’d been lying to me since our very first conversation.

His response was to tell me that he often told people certain things in order to try to “accomodate them”, and then asked me what specifically I was upset about. I said that he had crafted an entire persona and that I had no idea who he really was. He tried to deny it, saying that he had merely left out certain details and that I had jumped to conclusions. That really made me angry, so I gave him a list of the biggest outright lies he had told me–which were certainly not lies of omission. He is not from a small town in Deshaan, he is actually from Mournhold. He is not a travelling bard, he is actually a diplomat and a noble. He does not send money home to his parents because they don’t need it because they are also nobles.

He told me that he didn’t know he would ever see me again, and he wanted to leave me with a happy memory of a person more relatable than himself. He also said that he wore his lies like a defense. I was incensed. I accused him of thinking so poorly of me that he thought he could lie about the fundamental basics of who he is without consequence. I accused him of thinking that I was just a nobody who he didn’t actually care to know, and would rather brush off with a string of pacifying lies. I said he must think I’m stupid if he thought I would never find out; that he must not even see me as a person.

He tried to make excuses that he had many attempts on his life and he doesn’t generally tell his entire life story to people the first time he meets them. I told him that’s no excuse for making up a whole false background for himself, especially since I had exhibited no signs of hostility,  _and_ I had already had the opportunity to harm him while he was unconscious before he had even said a word to me. He tried to bring the teachings of Lord Vivec into it, and I shot  _that_ down immediately. Vivec teaches that lies are weapons to be used against the enemy, not friends or completely innocent and helpful strangers.

He tried to make the excuse that he didn’t know if I was actually a plant sent to befriend him for his secrets. I said that was absurd because we were in Coldharbour and I was receiving treatment just as abusive as his. I told him that besides, he didn’t have to lie to me to avoid telling me about himself. He could have remained silent, or told me he would rather not talk about his past. I told him that he could have waited until he realized I was trustworthy before telling me his history. He protested that we had been too busy what with the escaping and everything.

Then he tried to turn it around on me and asked me how many of his relationships I had ruined in trying to find out about him. I told him I had casual conversations with everyone in the party, and hadn’t said anything that might have hurt his reputation. He accused me of being gullible, and I told him I wasn’t, and that was why I had gotten Ulyn to confirm Lillandril’s story before coming to him. He told me Ulyn was a complete idiot, and I told him that even idiots can know basic information about people, like the fact that Fayrl was from the Indoril family line, and had a wife and son.

Mentioning his son made him angry, and he threatened to slit my throat if I ever spoke of his son again, even if it did mean risking his life in Mournhold. I told him he wouldn’t dare, that he needed me. I told him to apologize for lying to me and maybe we could leave this mess behind us. He refused unless I apologized for telling Qau-dar about Coldharbour. At that point I was exasperated and tried to tell him that I didn’t know that the healer came every week to check on the employees of the Den, only to realize halfway through what I was saying and then accuse him of not even being a prostitute.

I think he might actually  _be_ a prostitute though because his whole demeanor changed and he started trying to seduce me. I told him to stop touching me; that I had trusted him and he had betrayed that trust and now he didn’t get to touch me. He asked me what I was going to do about it, if I was going to show my “true colors” at last; if the Telvanni or the Hlaalu had sent me.

I believe my exact response was, “Sheo-fuckin-gorath! I’m not going to do anything to you! I’m a fetching Buoyant Armiger for Azura’s sake!” Of course that just made him accuse me of Daedra worship and threaten to report me to my captain, which is completely laughable because I only follow Daedra in the same way that Lord Vivec does, and my captain wouldn’t give a damn because she does exactly the same. I asked him again to stop touching me, and he said I hadn’t minded him touching me in Coldharbour, and insinuated that I thought him too vile now that he wasn’t in rags. I told him that in Coldharbour we had been friends, and it was pointless to try to twist my words because we both knew what I meant and playing otherwise only made him look like a fool.

He asked if anything had really changed between us besides a few small lies coming to light, and I said that I didn’t know who he was, that I couldn’t trust a word he said, and I didn’t even like him right then. He told me I was finally learning that I couldn’t trust anyone here. He said I could leave at any time, but that I wouldn’t because I needed him as much as he needed me.

That was such a fetching sad thought that I nearly cried. I had thought we were friends, and he had gone and betrayed me. I missed my friends back home so much–I could trust them–but this fetcher was the only person on this side of Tamriel who I could rely on.

He picked up on how miserable I was and started trying to explain why he had lied to me. He said he treats everyone this way, not just me, and he hadn’t done it to hurt me. He essentially said his lies are not even a conscious decision most of the time. And then he apologized.

That was enough for me, so I apologized too and told him if he could just promise not to lie to me anymore we could salvage the situation. He said he couldn’t promise that because he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it. I said that if he promised to do his best to tell me whenever he caught himself in an automatic lie, that would work as well.

He was hesitant–very hesitant–but eventually he said he would do his best.

Then he said he’d met Councilmer who made him feel less on-trial than I had, and they actually had put him on trial. Twice. Which just reminded me that I still didn’t know the first thing about him, so I asked him to explain.

His uncle is the grandmaster of House Indoril, and he has a grudge against Fayrl because he did not meet the family’s expectations, and the grandmaster doesn’t like his mother. He was in an arranged marriage with a woman from a rival House, and his wife tried to have him assassinated, even going so far as to hire an actor she could control (and subsequently poison) to pretend to be him while he was fleeing for his life for six years. He only returned when he found out that she had borne him a son, and was likely going to kill his son to gain power.

When he returned, he took up the duties he had been assigned after he had retired from House Intelligence, but his uncle started antagonizing him and trying to control him. He avoided his uncle’s manipulations by seducing the servants his uncle had sent to keep him in line, so his uncle found a reason to have him tried for treason. They couldn’t execute him, because they hadn’t executed his wife–she’d been sent to the Temple instead–so they sent Fayrl on what he called a “suicide mission” in which he was required to find at least one Khajiit clan willing to remain neutral in the current conflict, and if he fails, or returns without six party members, they will kill him. If he takes too long, they will start killing the people he cares about. Apparently this was the sentence laid out by both his uncle the grandmaster, and Mother Morrowind.

That, along with his history in House Intelligence, goes a long way to explaining why he’s so paranoid. He told me he was expected to lie in his line of work, but he had trouble shutting it off. He wanted to know how I could possibly believe such a made-up sounding story, but I just told him I was giving him a second chance, and besides, our story about Coldharbour sounds much worse.

I still don’t fully trust him, but I’m going to take his story at face value. I think we may have managed to rescue our friendship, but I can’t really see myself sleeping with him anytime soon ( ~~even though I want to)~~  like he wanted, especially not after he tried to seduce me in order to manipulate me. That’s almost worse than having him fall in love with me. I’m gathering that he’s not the type of person to fall in love easily though, so perhaps I don’t have to worry about that pitfall.

He certainly doesn’t seem to handle emotional conversations very well. He started drinking before the end of it, and I suspect he plans to get wasted for the next few days. He said as much. I’m worried about him. He wasn’t alright after our conversation, and if that much was enough to send him on a drinking binge, I can’t imagine that he’s alright after Coldharbour either.

Oh damn it all. I forgot to ask him if he knew about the secret vegetable menu.

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175147148967/22nd-of-midyear>  
Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175145068219/22nd-of-midyear-fredas>

* * *

24th of Midyear

I’ve been in Valenwood for a week, and I am still in awe of the sheer breadth of new experiences I am finding. I’d never imagined that travelling the world would be like this. The diversity of wildlife here is simply astonishing. So far I have seen:

1\. A species of small mammalian creatures somewhere between a pony guar and a bantam guar in size that make a startlingly wide variety of noises that range anywhere from hoots to screeches. They have two arms, two legs, and a prehensile tail, all of which they use to swing from branch to branch. I think they are herbivorous, as I saw one eating fruit. They travel in groups and were quite friendly when I approached them, but they have a bit of a mischievous streak, as they later mobbed me and stole my shirt.

2\. A four legged grazing mammal, vaguely resembling a horse, but only about half as large. They seem to come in two varieties; with horns and without (possibly male and female). They were skittish, and it took all my tracking skill to get close enough to sketch them.

3\. Several species of colorful frogs.

4\. A variety of large lizard which seemed singularly unconcerned at my close scrutiny.

5\. A large reptilian creature that tried to eat me. It appears to be both water and land dwelling. I am lucky to be a fast runner.

6\. A species of striped cat, that also tried to eat me when I approached in the attempt to find out whether they were yet another variety of Khajiit. They were not. (Perhaps the lack of clothing or adornment should have been a hint.) I am lucky to be a fast runner.

7\. Some kind of sentient tree. It had a face like a mer, and it glowed with an inner light that might be indicative of some inherent magical property. It attacked when I got too close, and to my surprise it wasn’t rooted to the ground. I am lucky to be a fast runner. It was also accompanied by one of the large cats.

8\. One of the infamous carnivorous strangler vines of Valenwood. I learned my lesson about ambulatory plants and sketched it from a safe distance.

9\. Finally, and most importantly, my search for mammoths in order to provide an accurate sketch for Khes finally bore fruit. I was nearly trampled, but I got a good enough sketch that I think I can reproduce the creature reliably now. I am really lucky to be a fast runner.

I haven’t really seen Fayrl since I last talked with him. I gather that he’s made good on his intent to go on a drinking binge. He’s been sleeping late, or at least I end up leaving the Den before he comes out of his room in the mornings. Perhaps I should invite him to come with me. It’s been quite rainy, but I don’t really mind. I haven’t been able to write much while out exploring because of the weather, and I haven’t been able to sketch nearly as much in the moment as I’d like, but I’ve never minded getting wet, and the bag I procured at the market for my art supplies seems to be reasonably waterproof.

In light of my numerous close calls with the wildlife I decided to spend a little more of my limited funds to purchase a set of light leather armor and a set of weapons. First I got myself a lovely Bosmeri bone bow and a dozen arrows, but then later I found the sturdiest mammoth tusk staff which was advertised as usable as both a magical staff and as a blunt weapon. Of course, I couldn’t pass up a find like that, so I purchased it, even though the merchant was asking a simply egregious price for it.

I was surprised to realize that many of the merchants not from Valenwood have stalls constructed using wood, which I was given to understand was in violation of the Green Pact. I asked one of the merchants about it, and he told me that the use of wood is acceptable so long as it is sourced from outside of the Green. They apparently have an entire system of closely monitored importation of wood and other plant-based items from outside of Valenwood, which has only increased since the Bosmer and the Altmer began this new alliance together. Apparently their Dominion is going better than the Pact would like to believe. That is worrisome.

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175235540282/25th-of-midyear>  
Read Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry Here: <http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/post/175240093037/25th-of-midyear-2e-582>  
Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175276625429/26th-of-midyear-tirdas>

* * *

27th of Midyear

It’s been an eventful few days. I finally made it out to the colorful tree building the Bosmer have in the middle of the lake. It’s apparently a temple to their god Y’ffre. I learned quite a bit about the god from the priests there. My most interesting discovery is that Y’ffre is referred to with both he and she pronouns. I couldn’t figure out what determines the usage though; it isn’t alternating. As far as I could tell, it’s just whichever the speaker favors.

Y’ffre is a singer and storyteller whose domain is the present moment, as well as the Bosmer connection to the natural world. From what I can gather, Y’ffre is a much more personal god than any of the other Divines. Still not nearly as good as having a living god, but I suppose not everyone is as fortunate.

I also took a full circuit around the Elden Tree, discovered an Ayleid ruin on the far side of the tree (which was unfortunately locked with no discernable locking mechanism), and stumbled right into the middle of a compound of buildings with architecture that was distinctly non-Bosmer before I realized it was actually the Altmer Consulate. I’m lucky nobody noticed me.

When I left the Altmer Consulate I found a group that called themselves the Undaunted. From what I can gather, they are a group of fighters who have made it their life’s mission to perform the most daring deeds, hunt the most vicious monsters, explore the most formidable ruins, or die in battle so that songs are sung about them. The group I found had a pavilion full of trophies and even captured animals in cages. I had a great deal of fun talking with them.

Today I took a long hike half a day’s journey to the north and caught a glimpse of some more Ayleid ruins. I’d never seen Ayleid ruins before I got to Valenwood, and I’d like to be able to explore them, but the ones on the west side of the Elden Tree seem to be locked up tight, and I didn’t have time or the proper supplies to explore the ones I saw today before I had to head back to the Den. I’m sure I’m not well equipped enough to go exploring a ruin just yet, especially not one I would have to spend the night away from the Den to access, so perhaps I’ll take another hike in a different direction or recruit Fayrl’s aid before I attempt it.

I saw a Bosmer woman leaving Fayrl’s room when I got back to the Den this evening with two children in tow. I don’t understand why there are so many children in this establishment. It’s downright embarrassing if you ask me. A whorehouse is not a proper place to raise children. I’ll have to ask Fayrl who the woman was when I next see him. If she was just a prostitute, I doubt she’d bring her children along.

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry 1 Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175311648277/27th-of-midyear>  
Entry 2 Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175384112782/29th-of-midyear>

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry 1 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175309993924/27th-of-midyear-middas>  
Entry 2 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175325694474/27th-of-midyear-2nd-entry>  
Entry 3 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175345779189/28th-of-midyear-turdas>

Read Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry Here: <http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/post/175404516772/30th-of-midyear-2e-582>

* * *

2nd of Sun’s Height

I ran into Fayrl a few days ago and asked him if he wanted to come exploring with me. He told me that he would have to ask Qau-dar about it. Today he finally came and found me and told me he was ready to go. Fetcher, I was ready to go days ago! I thought he’d blown me off so I’d kept exploring on my own!

Anyway, we decided to follow the road south, and ran across a rain-bedraggled carnival. Turns out they were from Summerset, looking to get away from the competition there by pursuing a new audience. Not that they were having much luck. Most of the acts weren’t even open.

The only acts Fayrl was interested in were the trained shalk after it became apparent that all of the entertainers were Altmer, but while he was occupied with them I got talking to the storyteller. Apparently the Bosmer just don’t like his stories. He didn’t know where he could get any stories that the Bosmer would like, especially considering they already have a long tradition of storytelling which he wouldn’t be able to compete with. He was rather afraid to leave the carnival grounds because of the wildlife and various dangerous groups which have recently been plaguing the area (he specifically mentioned the Worm Cult as one of the groups he was concerned about, I’ll have to ask around about that), but he asked me if I would visit the Mages Guild in Elden Root and see if they have any books of stories. I didn’t even know that there _was_ a Mages Guild in Elden Root. It must be up higher in the Elden Tree or something. I was avoiding the upper levels because I don’t like heights, but I suppose I’ll have to risk it. If there’s a Mages Guild, I need to talk to some of their specialists anyway regarding the situation with my soul. Fayrl doesn’t seem to think they’ll be any help, but they’re the best lead we’ve got.

Despite the carnival’s setbacks, they did have a lot of shopping, so I tried to buy a new set of piercings to replace the ones lost in Coldharbour. Fayrl stopped me though and told me that his husband could make better ones, so when we got back to the Den I went to talk to him about it. His style of jewelry is entirely too delicate for me. I need something sturdier that will stand up to the rigors of an active lifestyle and possibly even combat. His jewelry was too thin and too ornate, but he did offer to make me something custom. He kept trying to sell me on gold jewelry, but gold is just too soft a metal for me. He eventually gave in and agreed to make me something closer to what I wanted for the price of thirteen gold and a mammoth painting.

He kept calling me this one word in his native language, “trevan”, and he wouldn’t tell me what it meant when I asked, even when he made me pay three extra gold to know what it meant. I wasn’t certain if he was secretly insulting me, so I paid the three extra gold, but he just told me it was what he and “tall mer” (Lillandril I’m assuming) were and what he and I weren’t. Since he wasn’t going to tell me in anything but riddles, I went to ask Fayrl what it meant. Fayrl decided to be an arse and made me wager for it in a game of cards. I won, but only because he lost so spectacularly. Apparently the word means  _friend._ Gods dammit, Qau-dar doesn’t think we’re friends? Fayrl pointed out that to him I’m just some person Fayrl met at a party, and he apparently thinks I’m a bit crazy after trying to tell him about Coldharbour, so I can see that, but he didn’t have to be so  _snide_ about it!

Honestly, between trying to get my soul back, trying to document everything that’s happened to me, and trying to get into the good graces of Fayrl’s husband, I seem to have my work cut out for me.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry 1 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175490810024/2nd-of-suns-height-morndas>  
Entry 2 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175521182489/3rd-of-suns-height-tirdas>

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry 1 Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175500878747/3rd-of-suns-height>  
Entry 2 Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175535283992/4th-of-suns-height>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. It contains links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains some brief discussion of sexuality and polyamory.

4th of Sun’s Height

I went to the Mages Guild today. I tried to get Fayrl to go with me, but he was convinced it wouldn’t help, and that Altmer would try to cut me open once I told them my story to find out why I was able to survive Coldharbour. I told him that was ridiculous. The Mages Guild is not in the habit of dissecting people without their consent, and in any event, I had no other leads, so I still had to try.

I’d been avoiding the upper levels of the Elden Tree because I’d expected them to be out on the branches or something, but the second level was all contained within the trunk. Apparently I had nothing to worry about as far as heights go. There were even railings on most of the ramps and stairs.

It was easy to find the Mages Guild. The doorway was huge, and the hall even huger. I don’t know why Fayrl thought that the Mages Guild would be entirely run by Altmer. Altmer didn’t make up even a third of their membership, though the people who were most helpful to me were Altmer. I mostly saw Bosmer, though I’m sure some of those were just guards. The master of the guild hall was a Bosmer woman with one blind eye, though I didn’t talk to her, I just had her pointed out to me. There were even a few Dunmer, though the one I talked to just tried to recruit me to go hunting cursed relics of Sheogorath for him. I had to tell him I’d already had enough trouble with  _one_ of the Corners, I didn’t need to go attracting the attention of another.

I met a friendly Breton man, who wanted to know if I was looking to join the Mages Guild, and when I explained what I was looking for, he directed me to the Guild’s enchanting specialist, an Altmer woman named Earnaana. She was wearing Daedric armor, which she told me she had enchanted herself. I took that as a promising sign. She obviously knew enough about Daedra to create a set of Daedric plate armor, so I thought perhaps she could help me with my questions.

I sat her down and started to tell her my story. After a few minutes, she told me to stop and brought over another Altmer woman named Andorie who was apparently the hall’s Mysticism specialist, and asked me to start over. When I said that I’d been soul trapped and lost my soul, Andorie cast some kind of detection spell on herself that made her eyes glow, and confirmed that my soul was still gone, but that I had some strange kind of soul-like tether attached to me leading into one of the outer realms. She suspected that was how I was still able to survive without a soul. They were both very interested in my story. I even showed them the lash scars from the Dremora whippings.

I expressed my worry that the gem my soul had been trapped in would be used, and Earnaana told me that was a legitimate concern. She did reassure me that I wouldn’t die immediately from it though, unless the gem was used in such a way that depleted all my soul energy all at once. More likely, I would feel the drain on my soul happen slowly. Most enchantments, she said, such as the enchantments on a weapon or armor, use up the imbued soul energy gradually, and eventually have to be recharged. That was both a relief and also another source of worry. At least I’ll likely have some warning when my soul gem gets used, and I may have enough time to stage a rescue, but on the other hand if I can’t locate my soul, I will die a slow, wasting death as my soul’s energy gets used up by whatever enchantment it powers.

I asked them all kinds of questions. How is it even possible for me to be alive like this after I was murdered? (They didn’t know.) Am I really alive? (Yes, as far as they can tell.) If I die again, will I reappear like I did in Coldharbour? (Again, they didn’t know and they suggested I  _not_ test it.) Would it be possible to summon the gem my soul has been trapped in? (No, probably not.) How can I locate my soul? How can I get back to Coldharbour without getting trapped there again?

They gave me the best answers they had for those last two questions. If I’m close enough–as in, within the same room as my soul gem–I can probably use a detection spell like the one my birth gift provides to identify the gem my soul has been trapped in, but as far as finding it before then, they didn’t know, although there was some suggestion that I find someone more knowledgeable about spellmaking, Daedric realms, and Mysticism magic, and ask them about coming up with a method to follow the soul-like tether I’ve got. I can get to almost any Daedric realm by opening a portal there, however such portal spells are difficult to master, and easy to mess up, and I’d almost certainly have to get an expert in portals to do it for me rather than learn to do it myself, and they didn’t think that I would be able to convince any portal masters to come with me to Coldharbour in order to ensure a means of return.

After they answered all the questions I could think of, they took me to see the guild hall’s Restoration specialist, an unpleasant Altmer who was quite annoyed at us wasting his time. I think he must be the kind of Altmer who Fayrl was worried about finding–Earnaana and Andorie were perfectly nice to me. He did comply with Andorie and Earnaana’s request though, and ran a full set of diagnostic spells on me, grumbling the whole time about how I was perfectly healthy and that his skills were only for emergencies. He didn’t find anything I didn’t already know. There is nothing wrong with my health, other than being slightly underweight, and nothing Daedric or otherwise unusual going on in my physiology other than Vivec’s gift.

The only other useful piece of information I got from my excursion today was that the Fighters Guild has been staging a resistance against the Dark Anchors. I might go see if they know more about what’s going on with those later.

On my way back to the Den I found a merchant selling a wide variety of art supplies. A good thing I found him, too. I was running out of the chalks I’d gotten at the Den. I got myself a lovely set of brushes, watercolor paints, oil paints, a few inks, and some proper pastels of both the chalk and oil variety. He didn’t have any proper canvasses, but I got the largest book of blank vellum pages the mer had, so hopefully that will hold me over until I can figure out how to stretch vellum over a canvas frame. I also used the last of my money to get a few tins of raw pigment so I can mix my own paints. I’m officially broke again now. At least I’m rich in material.

I reported my findings to Fayrl, and I think he took it alright. When I told him we needed to find someone who’s an expert in spellmaking, Daedric realms, and Mysticism, he told me he actually knew someone. I asked who it was, and he said it was an Ashlander wise woman. I was hesitant. Ashlanders don’t exactly have any formal education, and as far as I know they can’t even read, but I’ll take any hope over none.

We got to talking about Fayrl’s experience in House Intelligence, and why he was forced to retire. He demonstrated a skill of his to make himself appear younger. I’ve never seen such a thing! He really did seem like he was a young fifty year old again, full of self doubt and shyness. It was actually pretty adorable.

Too adorable maybe. I gave him a hug, and Fayrl took that as indication that I was alright with physical affection, which… He’s not wrong, I’m fine with being affectionate with my friends, but he did come onto me very suddenly. My mission to make friends with his husband is suddenly a much higher priority.

In fact he’s asleep on my bed now. I should probably stop writing so I don’t wake him.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175565383619/5th-of-suns-height-turdas>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175578653072/4th-of-suns-height-second-entry>

* * *

5th of Sun’s Height

I spent the day in the Den, mostly drawing animals from sketches. I sat in the room with Qau-dar and his daughter while I did so. I was going to try to engage Qau-dar in a conversation, but when I saw he was giving his daughter an alphabet lesson, I thought I shouldn’t interrupt.

Ta’agra is a beautiful script. I’d never seen it written before. I kept inching closer to see the letters, and before I knew it, I was a part of the lesson. Cyrodiilic Common is by no means my first language–I learned it in Temple primary school over a hundred years ago–so I understand the basics of how to learn a second language. I got the basic gist of their alphabet, took notes, and decided the best way to practice was to write out a quotation in Ta’agra.

I  _wanted_  to write Vivec’s Prayer, but Qau-dar wouldn’t have it. He refused to translate it for me. He said I should keep my prayers to myself because they’re sacred. I wasn’t writing it for him! I was writing it for me! Of course, I could have written it in Cyrodiilic Common using the Ta’agra script as a simple substitution cypher, but I think that might sabotage my ability to learn it properly. I asked him what I should write instead and he gave me a short quotation to practice, but he refused to tell me what it meant. The only thing I could gather is that one of the words, “Ahnissi”, is a proper name, and the same name that he mentioned when he kept trying to tell me about the Khajiit version of the origin of Nirn. He showed me how to pronounce the whole thing, so I might as well write it out.

“Ahnissi pur jer. Jer vara dov saa ibo ja'khajiit an jer raba delaka'ali sri buzurriitay Ahnissi, an opa Ahnissi pur jer.”

In any case, a quotation that I don’t know what it says is hardly helpful, so I got clever. I started asking Qau-dar to translate words for me that were in Vivec’s Prayer, out of order. I got pretty far before he caught on–about two lines.

“Ai, this one sees what you be doing, Tel-mer!”

“Learning letters?” I said.

He squinted at me. “You know.”

And then he called off the lesson. He had a conversation with his daughter that I only caught some of. Something about a mini-mammoth show, and I had to learn five letters before I was allowed to go. Then his daughter scampered off somewhere and I was left alone with Qau-dar.

I figured it would be best to be up-front with Qau-dar, so I said, “Look, so I know you said we weren’t friends, er… trevan, but I think we got off on the wrong foot, and since we’re going to be travelling together I’d like to be trevan with you if that’s alright.”

He didn’t say anything–just sat there looking at me–so I started trying to ask him about himself. I got him to tell me that he was a jeweler by trade (I don’t think he knew the word in Cyrodiilic Common, I had to ask him to define it.) He told me he got into jewelry-making because it’s beautiful. That’s something I can relate to. I also like making beautiful things. I tried to tell him about how I got into painting. He seemed interested enough, so I told him how I was raised by the Temple, about my childhood in Balmora, about joining the Buoyant Armigers, though I didn’t name them, I just said it was a religious order devoted to Vivec. I mentioned my first boyfriend, and how he tried to stop me from joining, so I left him. Qau-dar said that was good, that respect should be the base of any relationship.

He was perfectly polite the whole time, but I had a hard time reading his body language. I have no idea how he would react to me telling him about Vivec’s boon, so I held off and asked him about his childhood instead.

He was raised in a clan that traveled a lot. He talked about his siblings, his parents, playing with the other kids in his clan, and riding in his mother’s side bags. His parents are quadrupedal apparently. He spoke of lessons with the Clan Mother that sound quite similar to the lessons I had at the Temple.

The whole time I had to keep interrupting him to ask him to define the words he used in Ta’agra. I now have a small list of Ta’agra vocabulary. Maybe I can get him to like me better if i start using them in conversation with him. I still have no idea if he likes me or not. His body language is impenetrable to me. I thought I might be able to learn to read him by paying attention to his movements the way I would with an unfamiliar animal, but so far it’s not working very well. It doesn’t help that he has a private sign language he uses just with his daughter that I can’t understand at all. At least he was nice enough to translate some of the things his daughter was saying.

In any case, Fayrl kept popping his head into the room in a kind of calculated, disinterested manner that made me wonder if he was waiting for me to finish talking with Qau-dar, so I invited him to come play a game with me.

We found one of the gambling lounges that was relatively empty, and asked the barkeeper if we could appropriate one of the gaming tables. At first Fayrl wanted to play a game of cards wherein the stakes were our clothing, but I kept losing, and had to draw the line at taking off my underwear. Then he changed the stakes on me, and said I could win my clothes back, which… I did, and then immediately lost my trousers again. I told him to choose different stakes, so we started playing a dice game in which the winner could ask the loser one question, or have them do something silly or embarrassing.

I had a lot of fun, even if he did try to make me drink one of those glasses of foul-smelling fermented meat juice the Bosmer call alcohol while standing on my head. At least I had been nice enough to get him to do it with water, but no, he had to turn it around on me and make me do it with that stuff.

I did get some interesting information out of Fayrl. He doesn’t like the teachings of Vivec nearly as much as he likes the teachings of the Anticipations. I got an interesting story out of him about how he seduced a politician while dressed as a slave girl, and fed him enough false information to have him killed for treason. He also told me that the stupidest thing he’s ever done is sleep with his brother’s boyfriend, and also that it totally wasn’t worth it.

The game kind of trailed off when I drunkenly asked him what the worst thing he’d ever done was, and he didn’t want to answer. He told me to ask him something else, so I asked him who it was that had captured him right before he had been forced to retire from House Intelligence. He told me it was the Aldmeri Dominion, but before they called themselves that. After that he didn’t want to play anymore.

I probably shouldn’t have pushed him so far, but I was curious, and at least a little tipsy–not on that meat-juice though, I can’t stand that stuff. I hope he doesn’t avoid playing with me in the future because of this.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175630250429/6th-of-suns-height-loredas>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175612456357/6th-of-suns-height>

* * *

8th of Sun’s Height

Qau-dar told me I could stop hanging around him because he was fine with me being close friends with Fayrl. What did Fayrl say to him? I would have thought it would be obvious not to say anything just yet until I’m sure we are actually friends, but apparently Fayrl went and told him something, though I’m not sure how much. He worded it strangely. Perhaps it is the language barrier, or perhaps I’m just being paranoid, but I still want to sit down with both Fayrl and Qau-dar and have a good talk about boundaries and how I can avoid stepping on their toes in their relationship. And perhaps invite Qau-dar to join us if he agrees?

Regardless, I told Qau-dar that I did actually want to be friends with him, and then I sat in on his alphabet lesson with his daughter. He wouldn’t teach me any new words in Ta’agra though, just had me practice the letters. Actually, he threatened to kick me out if I kept asking him to translate words, saying I was being a distraction. That was not my intention. Oops.

At some point Fayrl joined us as well. He looks tired recently. I haven’t seen much of him. I wonder if he’s still pissed at me for asking too many personal questions. He’s a more private person than I’d thought. If I don’t see more of him by tomorrow afternoon I’m going to go check on him.

I went to a mammoth show with Qau-dar and Ma’Riahni. It was quite interesting. There was a whole troupe of mammoths of varying sizes, dancing on stage, doing tricks, wearing cute costumes, and blowing fire. Their handlers were quite adept gymnasts, and were nearly as impressive as the mammoths. I particularly liked the ones that descended from the ceiling in a bolt of silk.

Ma’Riahni was beside herself to see the mammoths. She snuck up on stage and started trying to ride one of the small ones. The handlers took it well and indulged her, but I kept worrying she would fall and be trampled. After the show, some of the handlers took a few of the smaller mammoths out into the audience to give people a chance to pet them and even ride them. I got a good look at them and made a few sketches. These mammoths have only two tusks instead of four. I wonder if it’s a sign of age or just a difference in breed.

Some of the people in the employ of the Den keep asking me if I could help them with tasks. I’d be happy to help if I wasn’t so busy. They keep asking me while I’m in the middle of a painting, with sketches and paints spread out everywhere around me. Once I’m set up to paint I don’t like to move until I’m done painting because it takes quite a bit of time to mix the paints I’m going to be using that session, and then clean the brushes once I’m done. If I abandon the work in the middle, I might have to throw out the paints I’ve prepared, and I might ruin my brushes. This is my livelihood now. I have to take it seriously. I’ve been painting mostly animals, as accurately as I can because the Bosmer seem to find that important, and once I’ve amassed a small portfolio, I’m going to set aside my favorite animal paintings and sell the rest. 

Read Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry Here: <http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/post/175645490087/7th-of-suns-heaight-2e-582>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175688248312/8th-of-suns-height>  
Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175715054809/8th-of-suns-height-sundas>

* * *

9th of Sun’s Height

Well then. Today has been eventful. And exasperating. And a bit embarrassing.

I’d been feeling progressively more guilty because of Fayrl’s reaction to me prying into his private affairs, so when I didn’t see him around the Den this afternoon, I went to find him. He was in his room, writing something, which he burned as soon as I came in, which only made me curious, but I know how poorly my last attempt to ask him about himself went, so I let it be.

I decided to just apologize for my behavior and get it over with, but he acted as though it was nothing at all. Perhaps I was wrong about it bothering him? Maybe he has something else going on that has been weighing on him and that’s why he’s been in his room so much? I’d thought he might be avoiding me, but perhaps not.

In any case, I invited him to play a strategy game with me, and asked him to choose the game. First he accused me of apologizing just to get him to play with me again, and then, in typical Fayrl fashion, he went and retrieved a sex game, complete with leather restraints. Now I wasn’t born yesterday. I know a sex game when I see it. I’ve played a fair few in my time, and seen many more, so I shut that line of inquiry down right quick. He looked disappointed though, so I told him I might play it with him eventually, just not now.

We ended up settling on one of the games I learned in the Armigers, Gahmerdoohn’m Sorilk. As a side note, the Den’s selection of board games is absolutely amazing. I’ve never seen so many games in one place before, much less ones of such high quality. The board we ended up playing on was made of ivory, or possibly bone, and inlaid with mother of pearl. It was the kind of board that ends up getting gifted to Lord Vivec as an offering by some rich f’lah hoping to get the attention of a living god.

Fayrl played decently, but I’ve had enough practice playing against the other Armigers that it would probably take a lot better than decent to beat me. During the game, the conversation turned to the rules I have regarding casual sex. By the end of the game, I was fed up, so I told him to follow me so we could talk to Qau-dar and get this thing settled once and for all.

I found Qau-dar watching Lillandril’s children along with Ma’Riahni. I asked him if he could step out into the hall for a moment. He didn’t want to, but I wasn’t about to have that kind of a conversation right in front of children. The conversation went something like this:

I said something along the lines of “Hey, so Fayrl says that you don’t mind him having sex with whoever he chooses, but I didn’t want to make any assumptions or get in the way of your relationship, especially since we’ll be travelling together, so I wanted to get your permission first.”

Qau-dar said… nothing, so I kept going, worried that I had brought the subject up too soon and now Qau-dar was just going to refuse. I said something like, “I mean, I’m not planning on getting in the way of your relationship in any way, it’s just casual sex. I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you so we don’t have any jealousy issues down the line. I’ve had that happen before and I’d rather not have that happen with my only friends on this side of Tamriel.”

Fayrl was hiding his mouth behind his hand and he looked like he was about to cry–probably from laughing at me, the fetcher.

Qau-dar asked if this was the reason that we had taken him away from his warm tea, and asked if we were in such a hurry that we couldn’t wait.

I was really nervous, but I tried to reassure him. “Well, I know it probably sounds silly especially with such an established relationship like yours, but I’ve had enough issues in the past that I think it is important.”

Qau-dar turned to Fayrl and asked why I was asking him.

Fayrl said he’d tried to tell me but that I wouldn’t believe him. It’s not that I didn’t believe him–actually, me believing him was probably part of the problem–it’s that I’d rather establish a good relationship with my partners’ partners beforehand rather than risk a miscommunication. It’s just good policy!

Qau-dar asked Fayrl why I thought I needed permission from Qau-dar, and what kinds of things he’d been telling me.

Fayrl responded that he’d told me about their marriage in Skyrim, but that he’d also told me that this business was just between him and me.

Then Qau-dar asked if I was even old enough to be having sex at all. At least, I think that was what he said. I didn’t ask him to translate for me this time. Fayrl thought this was hilariously funny and burst out laughing. I was indignant and told Qau-dar I’d been old enough for intercourse for almost a hundred years now.

Qau-dar said, yes, mer live a long time, but is it old enough for mer? Fayrl assured him it was, and Qau-dar huffed and asked why I was asking him at all.

I said something like “Well you mentioned that Fayrl had already asked you, but I wanted to make sure there weren’t any miscommunications. I don’t want to get in the way of your marriage.”

Qau-dar turned to Fayrl, gave him a look, and asked what he’d been telling me.

Fayrl started recounting how he’d told me about his wife and about the two of them getting married in Skyrim and such.

I felt like I was missing some crucial context, so I asked if there was a problem.

There was. It turns out they’re not actually married in any sort of a relationship sense, just in a legal sense, and that neither of them actually view the marriage as legitimate. Qau-dar is happy with his three spouses and his children, and Fayrl isn’t interested in romantic relationships anymore (which would be a relief to learn if I didn’t have to go through so much embarrassment to learn it.)

Of course, learning that Fayrl had been misrepresenting himself this entire time was… frustrating to say the least. I should have known. Fayrl has a problem with compulsive lying. I know this. And I still believed him. I’m just not certain how I could have avoided it. I can’t very well go around doubting every word he says, and double checking the truth of everything he tells me would just be rude, assuming he caught me at it. Besides, he told me he was married to Qau-dar before he made the promise to try to be more honest with me. I should have known to doubt it. I mean, he is apparently married, but only being married in a legal sense is no marriage at all, and misrepresentation is as good as a lie when it leads to the same results. The results being me horrendously embarrassed apparently.

I apologized to Qau-dar, and Fayrl told me he hadn’t meant to deceive me; that he’d tried to tell me that everything was just between him and me.

I told him I’d heard that before from the mouth of someone trying to cheat on their partner and I wasn’t about to accept that kind of an answer when they clearly were in a relationship of some kind.

He gave me a half-arsed apology for not being clear, but I wasn’t about to try to deal with that then, and in a last ditch effort to salvage the conversation without completely wasting Qau-dar’s time, I asked Qau-dar if he wanted to join me and Fayrl if we ever managed to work out our miscommunication, assuming his spouses were alright with that.

He looked me up and down and said I wasn’t to his taste, but he was honored anyway.

That was the most embarrassment I could handle at one time so I told him fair enough and made a hasty retreat.

I went back to my room and started painting to try to recover my composure. Fayrl knocked on my door a few minutes later.

I’ll admit I wasn’t exactly in the most communicative mood at first. I may have made some sarcastic jabs at him.

He said something like, “I suppose you must have some questions?” to which I responded “What? No, you were so clear before!”

He said he felt like, perhaps the things he had thought were obvious might not have been so, to which I could only respond “You think?”

He protested that he was not used to this. I asked, “Not used to someone calling you on your guarshit?”

He said that wasn’t fair, that nothing he’d said was actually a lie.

I told him it didn’t matter, the result was the same. I still ended up horribly embarrassed in front of someone I was trying to befriend, and I had no idea how I was going to show my face to Qau-dar.

He tried to tell me that if I’d told him what I was trying to do he could have stopped me from embarrassing myself, and besides Qau-dar had treated me gently and kindly throughout the whole thing.

Sure he might have treated me gently and kindly, but it’s probably because he thinks I’m an idiot. He might not be too far off either.

Fayrl said he thinks most people are idiots, including Fayrl, but that wasn’t a deterrent to their friendship.

That doesn’t even make any sense to me. I wish I was back on Vvardenfell with people who actually make sense. I wish I didn’t have to deal with losing my soul and with the constant worry that the gem in which my soul is trapped might be used to power some enchantment somewhere, slowly killing me. I was doing well for myself before this whole mess started.

Fayrl was sympathetic, and tried to assure me that neither he nor Qau-dar nor any of Fayrl’s servants were trying to cause me distress; that he wasn’t trying to hurt me.

I told him I knew that, and that’s what makes this whole situation so difficult. Despite his compulsive lying, Fayrl isn’t acting maliciously, and I shouldn’t treat him like he is. He told me that telling the truth has endangered his life in the past, as well as the lives of people he cares about, and that he is just used to obscuring the truth in order to protect himself. Knowing what I know about House politics, I can believe that. There’s a reason I try to avoid getting involved with any of the Houses.

Fayrl told me he doesn’t always remember how his manner of obscuring the truth affects other people. I told him congratulations, he’d sure affected me by giving me a headache.

He offered me a potion or some brandy. I said an apology might work better.

And he apologized. He told me he was sorry for putting me in an awkward situation.

That actually made me feel a bit better despite myself, so when he asked if there was anything he could do for me, I just asked if he could explain why he was not actually married despite all evidence to the contrary.

Apparently Fayrl and Qau-dar got married on Hearts Day in order to get a week of free meals and a room. And Qau-dar just likes communal sleeping arrangements. I feel like an idiot.

Fayrl tried to reassure me that the situation wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought, but I was still far too embarrassed to be able to see it from his perspective just then. I said I wouldn’t be surprised if Qau-dar told me to leave him alone from now on. He told me that Qau-dar wouldn’t do something like that, but I’ll have to find out for myself in the morning before I believe it. Fayrl suggested that I do something nice for him, or offer to help him with chores. Perhaps I’ll do that.

Oh, also, it turns out that Fayrl isn’t paying for the rooms like I had thought. Lillandril and Rialas just own the place and are letting us stay for free. Fayrl said he’d been helping out and providing entertainment when he could to try to pay them back. That puts a new light on the Den employees asking me for help, and now I realize I’ve inadvertently been an arse and a poor guest again. I’m never going to be able to show my face to anyone ever. I’m just going to have to avoid painting at the Den so I don’t have to abandon paintings half-finished and ruin my brushes by jumping to assist everyone that requests my aid. Despite how it sounds, I’m not actually bitter. I’m mostly just frustrated that nobody saw fit to tell me this pertinent information in the first place.

At least I got Fayrl to model for me. He wanted to model naked, but I wasn’t going to even attempt to deal with that today. That’s a problem for after I’ve dealt with some of the rest of the mess this day has already brought.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175732615639/10th-of-suns-height-tirdas>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175750090887/10th-of-suns-height>

* * *

11th of Sun’s Height

I went and talked to Qau-dar yesterday in an attempt to overcome my embarrassment at our massive miscommunication. I offered to do chores with him, and he put me to work scrubbing floors with the children. Around midday, Rialas approached me and warned me that there was going to be a raid on the Den, and that I would either have to pose as a new employee of the Den or make myself scarce. I chose the latter.

I went to the Fighters Guild instead. I learned a lot of information there. They are trying to organize a resistance against the Worm Cult and the Dark Anchors. Apparently they have had some success in some parts of Tamriel, even going so far as to unmoor some Dark Anchors.

Apparently they have dedicated their entire guild to the endeavor. Their guildmaster is an Argonian named Sees-All-Colors who has made it the Guild’s singular purpose. I don’t know how they’re being paid, but I appreciate their determination all the same.

They asked me if I wanted to join. They promised me special training if I did. I told them I would think about it. I appreciate what they are doing, but I’m not sure I can make that kind of a commitment without consulting my Captain. Even if I were to join their ranks, I should probably do it in Morrowind, not Valenwood. I asked if I could join their fight in the meantime while I was in the area. They told me they would be glad of the help, but they could not promise me the same kind of provisioning, training, or compensation they provide their members. I said that was fine. I can supply myself if need be.

While I was in the Fighters Guild Hall, I recalled my earlier desire to explore an Ayleid ruin, and asked around for information regarding the ruins in the area. The information I gathered is as follows:

The Ayleid ruin on the opposite side of the Elden Tree is known as The Osseous Orrery. It is not currently open to the public as it is being prepared for the coronation of that new Altmer queen. When exactly the coronation is supposed to take place, I was not able to find out, but I gathered that it is still not for several months or more.

The Ayleid ruin I glimpsed about a half day’s journey to the north is known as Laeloria. It is home to a small shrine of Azura, and has been overrun by Daedra for about a hundred years. Certainly an interesting, if difficult choice to explore, especially if I want to see an ancient shrine to one of the Anticipations outside of Morrowind.

Even further to the north-northwest is a ruin known as the Reliquary of Stars. The Mages Guild has an excavation established there. That would probably be my safest choice of ruin to explore, but it is probably too far away.

About a half a day’s journey to the south-southeast is an expansive ruin known as Root Sunder. It has been so overgrown by the Green that the people at the Fighters Guild didn’t know of any way to enter it, and hostile animals make approach dangerous. Probably a bad choice to explore if I want to avoid harming the Green and offending the Bosmer.

A little less than a day’s journey to the south-southwest is a small ruin known as Ne Salas. As far as the people at the Fighters Guild knew, it is abandoned, but it does get taken over by bandits every few years and has to be cleared out. There’s no telling what I’ll find there, but it is the likeliest option available if I don’t feel like fighting Daedra at Laeloria.

There are more Ayleid ruins in Grahtwood, but those are the closest ones to Elden Root. Once I earn enough money to prepare an expedition, I’ll decide which one I would like to visit. That, or I’ll join one of the Fighters Guild scouting expeditions to search for Dark Anchors in the area. Perhaps both.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175784277769/11th-of-suns-height-middas>  
Read Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry Here: <http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/post/175883238797/14th-of-midyear-2e-582>

* * *

16th of Sun’s Height

I have been spending a good amount of time outside of the Den painting. I have made sure to spend at least a part of the morning each day with Qau-dar so he does not think I am abandoning my attempts at friendship with him, but I desperately need money if I am to do anything so bold as to equip myself to help the Fighters Guild search for Dark Anchors, or explore an Ayleid ruin like I wanted. I’ve discovered that I rather like painting tigers. The stripes are almost meditative.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry 1 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175837064379/13th-of-suns-height-fredas>  
Entry 2 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175900877199/inside-a-cobalt-blue-envelope-closed-with-gold-wax>  
Entry 3 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175977471369/16th-of-suns-height-morndas>

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175928653767/15th-of-suns-height>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for the 5th of Sun's Height:  
> Link to the Ta'agra Alphabet: http://www.taagra.com/alphabet.php  
> Ta’agra translation of Qau-dar’s quotation:  
> "Ahnissi pur jer. Jer vara dov saa ibo ja'khajiit an jer raba delaka'ali sri buzurriitay Ahnissi, an opa Ahnissi pur jer."  
> "Ahnissi tells you. You are no longer a mewing kitten and you have learned to keep secrets from Ahnissi, and so Ahnissi tells you."  
> Quotation from the Words of Clan Mother Ahnissi: https://www.imperial-library.info/content/words-clan-mother-ahnissi-her-favored-daughter
> 
> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. Starting in chapter three it will contain links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains PTSD and some sexual situations. Potentially NSFW.

17th of Sun’s Height

I was reviewing my journal and I realized I had completely forgotten about one of the reasons I went to the Mages Guild in the first place! I got so caught up asking about the nature of souls while I was there that I forgot that I’d meant to ask for a book of Bosmeri stories for that storyteller at the carnival. Hoping it wasn’t too late to fulfill my word, I went back and asked around the Mages Guild. I did, in fact, locate a book of Bosmeri stories, but it is written in Akaviri of all languages! I don’t know how helpful that will be, but he did make an offhand remark that he would take anything, even if it was written in Akaviri.

On my way out, prize in hand, I stopped to greet the mages who had previously helped me with my research about my condition.

“Oh good,” Earnaana said upon seeing me. “You’re here about the soul gems, then.”

“What soul gems?” I asked.

“The soul gems I sent you! I thought of something that might help with your condition after you had left, so I got a courier to track you down. Did you not receive my message?”

I told her I had received no such message, in conjunction with soul gems or otherwise. Apparently she sent it nearly two weeks ago, and she had been worried that I had left town. As I am still here, I was quite confused that I hadn’t received her package.

Her theory was quite technical, and she had to explain to me quite a bit about the nature of soul gems that I hadn’t known before. Apparently, upon reaching a certain order of magnitude, souls can only be trapped in gems of a certain size, and if gems of a size designed to hold the souls of mortals are used instead to hold the soul of a lesser being such as an animal, the caster runs the risk of [their own soul being drained](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fen.uesp.net%2Fwiki%2FLore%3ASouls%2C_Black_and_White&t=YzdmYWRiMGYwODBmODJhZjM0MWVkYTkxZDNmNTIyZTY4Y2U5MDBlMyxuR2luVDlXZA%3D%3D&b=t%3A3LsYBzJc4zHUnaC6keqMUA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fmazurah.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F176048621939%2Fjournal-of-a-buoyant-armiger-in-valenwood-first&m=1) in bits and pieces to fill up the unused portion of the gem.

Earnaana’s theory was that we might be able to make the reverse process happen. She surmised that as a being without a present soul, my body would likely act as a siphon for loose soul energy. The gems she had sent me were small gems that had been filled with a soul too large for them. She admitted that the excess energy had probably already dissipated and been lost, but that it was worth a try. To that end, she brought me another soul gem of that type and had me touch it.

Nothing happened.

Disappointed, she suggested an alternate theory. If I were to hold the gem while she performed the magical process commonly used in enchanting to release the soul from the gem to power an enchantment, I might be able to absorb the soul energy instead.

We attempted the procedure, and again nothing happened. The gem broke, and because Earnaana was not casting an enchantment on any item, the energy dissipated without having any effect on me.

So that was disappointing. Even if she had succeeded in supplementing my soul’s energy, I’m not entirely certain what would have happened. She wasn’t aiming to replace my soul, she was clear about that. She assured me she couldn’t replace my soul, no matter what type of soul we used, because each soul is unique. She said that by supplementing my soul’s energy I might be able to forestall the draining of my own soul energy by an enchantment; that even if my soul gem was used to power an enchantment, we might be able to supplement my soul energy to keep me alive long enough stage a rescue. She theorized that our attempts had failed because I was still tethered to the entirety of my soul, and that the procedure might succeed if my soul was in the process of being drained by an enchantment. She had me promise to keep the soul gems she had sent me, and if I ever started to feel the drain of an enchantment on my soul energy that I would have an enchanter try the experiment again.

As soon as I got back to the Den, I went to track down someone who might know whether a package of soul gems had arrived for me, and discovered Lillandril and Rialas. Apparently the Den had received the package, and it was put into storage, and the message given to Lillandril as the owner of the establishment. Lillandril had meant to give it to me, but promptly forgot about it.

He told me where the gems were being stored and then started asking me why I had been at the Mages Guild when I had access to a perfectly good mage of reputable skill in himself.

I told him I hadn’t known he was a mage. Why does nobody ever tell me anything around here? He told me I should have known, as he was an  _Altmer_ after all.

Unimpressed, I told him I’d been doing research.

Research into what, he asked.

Bearing in mind Fayrl’s warning about Lillandril’s notorious untrustworthiness, I gave him the rather terse reply that I’d been doing research into the nature of souls, and left it at that.

He had some rather disparaging remarks to make about the quality of mages available at the Mages Guild, and offered me his help instead.

Now I’m not about to turn down skilled help when it’s offered, so I asked him some tentative questions to see if he even had the kind of skill I need. I had to sit through a long recitation of his many,  _many_ virtues, (of which, humility is apparently not one) but I was able to discover that he is, in fact, versed in spell making, Daedrology, and Mysticism magic.

Surprised, I asked if he happened to know a spell that allowed him to detect souls. He said he did.

I thanked him for informing me, and then offered to paint his portrait. I’d been meaning to paint one for all the members of the party that will be going to Morrowind so I can get in their good graces, but I’ve been so occupied that I haven’t had much of a chance to do it for anyone other than Qau-dar and Fayrl.

Lillandril agreed to sit for the portrait, though the idea seemed more appealing to Rialas than Lillandril, and Lillandril only agreed after Rialas insisted. I got a good reference sketch, and bid them both farewell and went to find Fayrl to discuss what I’d learned about Lillandril’s expertise.

Search as I might, I couldn’t find Fayrl. I have no idea what he was doing, but when I asked one of the Den’s employees if he was even at the Den at the moment, I was told he was not to be disturbed. I guess I’ll just have to talk to him in the morning.

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/175964485692/16th-of-suns-height>  
Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/175989069749/17th-of-suns-height-tirdas>

* * *

18th of Sun’s Height

Well. That conversation didn’t quite go as planned. I found Fayrl at breakfast, and brought him back to my room to relay the information about soul gems I’d learned at the Mages Guild. He seemed to take it alright. Then I brought up the topic of Lillandril and Fayrl turned accusatory.

I told him I knew he didn’t trust Lillandril, so I wanted to bring it up with Fayrl before even considering accepting Lillandril’s help. Fayrl called me an idiot and said he would rather bargain with Molag Bal than rely on Lillandril’s help. He also mentioned that Lillandril is probably lying.

Now I’ve heard Fayrl rant about how all Altmer are liars and manipulative schemers out to ruin everyone around them, so I was skeptical at first. I’m fairly certain that Fayrl has a phobia of Altmer at this point–not that I can really blame him after he told me how he’d been captured by Altmer, and how it ruined his career.

He asked me whether I had been the one to bring up the subject of Daedrology, and I said I had. Fayrl then started accusing me of giving away all of his secrets. Now considering that I had specifically avoided telling Lillandril anything, this was both an untrue and a hurtful thing to say.

Actually, I believe his exact words were, “I might as well just throw myself on your bed with my rear in the air, because at least then I would know when you were screwing me. Why is it that you have such a fetching issue with listening? Or with talking to everyone?”

I said I  _had_ been listening, and asked him if I just wasn’t allowed to socialize anymore.

He told me that he suspected Lillandril of being an informant for the Dominion, that he had been acting suspicious in Fayrl’s family home, and asking pointed and prying questions that he had no business knowing. I told him alright, I wouldn’t bring up the subject with Lillandril again.

Then he started making flippant remarks about how I was ruining his life. I’m  _not_ trying to ruin his life! I’m just trying to get my soul back, and I’d  _like_ to be able to pursue every avenue of inquiry without getting accused of being a naive and loose tongued child. However, since Fayrl thinks Lillandril is lying about his skills, and also probably a Dominion informant, I won’t pursue  _this_ potential source of assistance unless Fayrl changes his mind.

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/176031728107/18th-of-suns-height>  
Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/176042086264/19th-of-suns-height-turdas>

* * *

20th of Sun’s Height

I went to the Elden Root market yesterday and sold a batch of paintings. I outfitted myself for an expedition to an Ayleid ruin, and bought enough supplies to last me about six days on my own, three if I’m with Fayrl. I now have a small tent, a bedroll, camp cooking supplies, preserved foods, and whatever counts as a fire kit around here, among other things.

Now that I was actually supplied, I went to ask Fayrl about joining me on this exploration mission. A few weeks back when I had asked him if he wanted to explore an Ayleid ruin with me, he dismissed me as unprepared and impulsive, and said I obviously didn’t know anything about how to prepare for a dangerous mission. I’m getting real tired of people accusing me of things like that. You don’t get to be a Buoyant Armiger without developing a certain level of competency. I was just asking Fayrl if he would be interested in going with me so I could determine if I should make the preparations, and he turned it around and said since I hadn’t already made the preparations, I was obviously not competent enough to go.

I learned my lesson this time. If I’m going to ask Fayrl if he wants to do something with me, I have to show I’m prepared to go through with it. This time I had supplies and information at hand when I asked him if he was interested in going to see an Ayleid ruin with me, and this time it worked.

At first he was skeptical of my information. He said something along the lines of, “I asked if you’d done research, not asked some alcohol reeking sellswords what they may or may not have seen running half-arsed through a ruin as sober as a fish is dry.”

I told him he wasn’t giving me enough credit. The Fighters Guild has been performing scouting missions to look for Dark Anchors for months, and my information about Ayleid ruins in the area was validated by their hall steward, who was in charge of scouting assignments. If it’s not reliable, I don’t know what is.

Then he tried to protest that we didn’t have the equipment to go exploring any ruins. I was happy to inform him that I had in fact already outfitted myself for just such an occasion.

Then there was discussion of which ruin would be appropriate. Fayrl was as wary as I was about the unpredictability of what we might find at Ne Salas. Best case, the place is actually abandoned, but worst case, it’s overrun with bandits or some such, and they might very well try to stage an ambush on us. I told him I’d rather visit the ruins of Laeloria instead. It might be overrun by Daedra, but at least we know that in advance, and besides, there’s a shrine to Azura there. I would like to see an ancient shrine to one of the Anticipations and see how it compares to the ones I’ve seen in Morrowind. It’s not an opportunity I’m keen to pass up just because of the dangers involved.

Fayrl agreed to accompany me there, but he wanted to know about travel plans and what I knew of the layout and possible defenses. I gave him as much information as I could, but I only know what the Fighters Guild told me.

He’s apparently been worried about me going off by myself. I told him he didn’t need to worry. I haven’t even been exploring very much recently, just painting. Besides, I can take care of myself. I’m a Buoyant Armiger for Vivec’s sake.

He pointed out that I was a Buoyant Armiger who had managed to be captured and killed at least once already, which… is a fair point, but who expects little old ladies to stage ambushes in their homes? I’m used to helping the public out. People respect the Armigers. Ambushing an Armiger in Mournhold would be like trying to ambush a Hand of Almalexia or something.

Fayrl pointed out that assassinations of that kind are not unheard of. Put in that light, I couldn’t deny it. Gods… I really was assassinated, wasn’t I?

Fayrl told me I shouldn’t be so ready to trust people. I told him I couldn’t neglect my duty to the public. He said he wasn’t asking me to, he just wanted me to be better prepared. He wanted to know if I could truly account for all the unknown variables in an expedition like what I had planned. I told him of course I couldn’t, all I could do was prepare as best I could, and that’s what I’d done. I’m not going to pass up the chance to see an Ayleid ruin in person. The contribution to my artistic repertoire alone is invaluable.

We ended up talking about happy memories. I told him about my days in the Armiger training citadel, and what drew me to Lord Vivec. He played the lute and we sang a few songs, and then he spent the night in my room, which was a nice change, even if he did wake up with nightmares in the middle of the night. He tried to claim it was a cramp at first, and then caught himself and admitted it was nightmares. I’m glad to see he is actually making an attempt to be more honest with me.

I walked in to breakfast this morning to find Fayrl talking to Qau-dar about our plans to visit Laeloria. Qau-dar said he wanted to come along. I was thrilled! But I had to temper my enthusiasm. I’ve never seen Qau-dar fight, and it’s quite likely we’re going to be fighting Daedra. If he doesn’t think he can handle it, he shouldn’t come. He seemed more concerned about who was going to care for his daughter while he was away though. If he can work it out, I do hope he comes along.

Fayrl said he needs a couple of days to prepare and give Qau-dar a chance to decide, so we’re not leaving yet. I can’t wait to go! It’s going to be so great.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry 1 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/176132330214/20th-of-suns-heights-fredas>  
Entry 2 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/176138501999/21st-of-suns-height-loredas>

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/176100926977/20th-of-suns-height>  
Read Lillandril’s Corresponding Entry Here: <http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/post/176125849552/21st-of-midyear-2e-582>

* * *

21st of Sun’s Height

Oh sweet Lord… Blessed Almsivi, Mercy, Mastery, Mystery… hear the prayer of your supplicant. I fear this trial may yet prove to be too much for me.

I delivered the book of Bosmeri stories to the storyteller at the carnival today. He was absolutely delighted, despite–or possibly because of–the language in which it was written. My mind had only just begun to form the first wisps of thought regarding what I should do with the rest of my day, when a sound like a deafening foghorn the likes of which will haunt my nightmares resounded throughout the firmament. When the reverberations faded somewhat, and I regained full employment of my hearing, I heard a sound halfway between a thunderclap the likes of which I have never before heard and a tonne of metal falling onto solid bedrock from a great height, swiftly followed by the sound of gargantuan chains clanking taut over the solid surface of the largest windlass Nirn has ever accomodated. My gaze snapped to the tree canopy in the direction of the sound only to witness what was unmistakably a Dark Anchor portal hovering over the landscape to the southwest, spiked metal chains already straining to drawn Nirn into its hungry maw. Clouds darker and more menacing than those producing the slow drizzle of rain around us crept toward the gaping hole in the sky as though it was sucking the life out of even the air of that vibrant jungle.

I nearly succumbed to panic in that moment, but the pandemonium in the carnival around me drew my focus out of the intrusive memories of Coldharbour and the knowledge of everything that Anchor represented. I swiftly located the carnival mistress and told her to take the entirety of her troupe to Elden Root while I scouted the Anchor. I told her to send someone to alert the Fighters Guild as well.

I made my way through the underbrush toward the Dark Anchor. It took me what must have been over half an hour to get there from the carnival grounds. I had overestimated its closeness because of the sheer enormity of the thing. When I arrived I clung to the side of an embankment, hidden in the foliage, and observed from above as I witnessed Daedra crash to the ground beside a small group of cultists. I made note of the variety; first, Dremora, as expected; next a trio of Clannfear plunged to earth beside the self-condemned cultists that had summoned them and began ripping them to bloody shreds; and finally a hulking Ogrim descended with a bellow and an explosion of smoke and dust.

I did not stay to watch their forces accumulate. I had ascertained the Anchor’s exact location and enough information about the invading force to flee back toward Elden Root. After a very long, three hour trek in which I was constantly glancing over my shoulder for pursuers, I made it to the Fighters Guild with a breathless report. They had already mustered over a half dozen people into full gear by the time I had arrived, and my account sent their already hurried activity into a frenzy.

I made a mad dash back to the Den to try to recruit Fayrl’s assistance, and, after failing to find him in the entirety of the Den, I finally discovered him in his room. Honestly, I should have checked there first, but I was not thinking as clearly as I should have, fighting as I was the panic that clutched at the tail of every rational thought. I don’t know why my emotions spiraled so out of control. I have training almost my entire life for how to conduct myself in an emergency. I’ve been in worse situations before, situations with more immediacy and tension to them, and never had this kind of all-consuming fear inhibit my thinking. It must have something to do with my previous encounter with Coldharbour. Perhaps I am not coping as well as I thought. I wish I could talk to my captain about it. She would know what was wrong with me. She always has the answers.

Upon hearing Fayrl’s answering call through the door, I opened it without thinking, only to discover him stark naked, cock in hand.

I closed the door immediately of course, but didn’t let my respect for his modesty prevent me from relaying the necessary information. I told him I would get my armor on and meet him by the front door in five minutes.

Of course, he had to go and take what seemed like a quarter of an hour instead, and nearly made us miss the Fighters Guild heading out toward the Anchor’s location.

It was nearly dark as we began the long hike to the Anchor, and the Fighters Guild handed me and Fayrl a lantern and a handful of night vision potions for use once we got to the site. The day’s rain had slowed, and finally stopped by the time we got there, for which I was grateful. It was not a clear night, but at least the sky wasn’t drenching us.

The fight was…. Actually, I’d rather not talk too much about the fight. It went better than it could have, but you never get used to losing comrades in arms, even ones you only just met. May the Three, or whatever gods they worship shelter their souls. Fayrl and I were the only people who could use any kind of offensive magicka in the entire group, and I stayed back and hit the Daedra with mostly ranged attacks. When it was over, three of the nine Fighters Guild members were dead, and I didn’t have a scratch on me.

There were injuries, but I was fortunate that the Fighters Guild was so well prepared that I didn’t need to offer my healing abilities. The battle fatigue hit me like a charging Ogrim as soon as the Fighters Guild successfully unmoored the Anchor and we were no longer in danger of attack. I felt nearly dazed as they informed us that they were going to leave a pair of guards at the Anchor base, take their dead back to Elden Root, and send for stonemasons and volunteers to begin dismantling the stone of the ritual circle so that Molag Bal could not send the Anchor down again. I desperately needed rest, so I told them I would return in the morning to assist them. Fayrl was already urging me back to the city.

I walked the long, tense road back for the fourth time that day in full darkness. The Fighters Guild lent me a lantern, for which I was grateful, because I easily imagined Dremora jumping out of the blackness to capture me and Fayrl again, despite the fact that we had only just finished closing their doorway to Nirn. The pool of lantern light was an island of safety in that dark jungle, and my fatigued mind conjured all kinds of fantasms, mostly from Oblivion, to pursue us just out of sight in the shadows of the trees. I was grateful too that Fayrl agreed not to touch me, because I would have probably jumped out of my skin, or pissed myself, or broken down crying, or something equally embarrassing had he tried.

This is not the conduct of a Buoyant Armiger! What is wrong with me that makes this emergency so much more difficult to cope with than any other emergency I have previously encountered? Rationally, I knew that the likelihood of Daedra popping out of the underbrush to take me and Fayrl captive was very slim, but the possibility tormented my mind. I prayed to my Lord under my breath for comfort almost the entire way home.

_“The fire is mine: let it consume thee,_  
And make a secret door  
At the altar of Padhome,  
In the House of Boet-hi-Ah  
Where we become safe  
And looked after.”

When I got back to the Den I requested a bath in my room, and let myself soak away the stench of sweat and panic. The silence was finally too much for me and I broke down in tears in the bath, sobbing to my Lord for forgiveness for my weakness. It is not weakness, I know. I did everything right; I did not abandon my training. I did not let my fear prevent me from performing the tasks I needed to perform, but it feels like such weakness to return from a battle and cry about everything that might have happened, both good and bad, had I done even the slightest thing different.

Could I have saved those three that died at the hands of the Daedra today if I had entered the fray instead of relying on my ranged abilities to fight? I don’t know. I am better at ranged fighting, so probably not, but the possibility torments me. What is worse, I am plagued with the troubled thought that I have destroyed yet another pathway to reclaiming my soul. What should I have done though? Was I supposed to climb up the chain? Leaving the portal open would have been an act of supreme selfishness. I engrave upon mine eyes the image of injustice; I cannot suffer it to stand. Besides, what would I even do once there? I could not predict what I would find, and thus I had no plan. Nothing good could have come of it. I know better than to gather seeds in the fields of hell.

I spent over nine hours today in a state of abject terror, not to mention the time spent in full-scale battle, and my body was so exhausted that I nearly thought I couldn’t lift myself from the bath. Tomorrow I am returning to the Anchor base to assist the Fighters Guild in its dismantling. I don’t know how well I will cope. Hopefully, better than I did today. I suspect the anxiety will not diminish until I have completely wiped that accursed artifact from the face of Nirn. I have never been more fully aware that the slave labor of the senses is as selfish as polar ice. I have often heard the concept preached as an admonition against excess, but it works the other way as well, with feelings we don’t want, and can’t get rid of.

I know what I must do. I shall let faith be my only law. I shall forge my faith most keen in the crucible of suffering. It is not something I enjoy, but it is something that I need. Faith conquers all. I shall yield to faith.

That is not to say I shouldn’t take care of myself. Fayrl has kindly left me a plate of food outside my door. I should avail myself of it.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/176168045609/22nd-of-suns-height-sundas>  
Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/176171860347/22nd-of-suns-height>

* * *

26th of Sun’s Height

I feel like I could sing! Not only is the Anchor finally completely gone, but Fayrl– Well I suppose I should start at the beginning.

The past few days have been awful. I couldn’t get rid of that nagging anxiety about the Anchor coming back, even after we had begun work to dismantle the stone base.

The morning after the battle to unmoor the Anchor, I ran into Fayrl in the hall and told him about the Fighters Guild’s plan to dismantle the Anchor base. He agreed to accompany me and help with the endeavor. He sang the whole way there. I’m glad he was doing so well, because I certainly wasn’t. I couldn’t really think of much other than the awful things that had happened to us in Coldharbour, and how much I didn’t want them to happen again. I’ve also been really jumpy lately, and having people behind me has made me uncomfortable even though I know it shouldn’t.

The actual work to destroy the Anchor base was irrationally upsetting. The whole time I kept thinking about how the Dremora in Coldharbour put me to work performing what was essentially the same task: breaking rocks. It’s not that it was particularly difficult. No, if anything it’s much easier than it was in Coldharbour because I’m doing it on a proper meal and I’ve managed to rebuild most of my lost muscle since we escaped. It’s just that the physical movement of swinging a pickaxe to break up the bedrock that made up the Anchor base kept pushing my thoughts into the last time that I performed such an activity. Anytime anybody walked behind me I flinched and tried to work faster, anticipating the blow of a whip, and then had to grit my teeth and remind myself that these people aren’t Dremora, and they aren’t going to whip me for working at anything less than the fastest possible pace.

I didn’t think anybody really noticed, but I couldn’t relax. For three days.

That first day of work Earnaana showed up from the Mages Guild to claim the bodies of the Daedra we had killed in the battle. She was surprised to see me there, but I think she was pleased. The Fighters Guild had offered the Mages Guild their choice of artifacts from the Anchor, and she immediately volunteered to gather the Daedra carcasses for enchanting and alchemy. She treated it like a sudden bounty, actually. She apparently went to a lot of trouble to summon and kill the Daedra whose essence and blood went into her armor, so having the bodies of so many Daedra all at once was very exciting to her. I’m just sorry I wasn’t in the mood to talk to her further.

I learned quite a bit about Dark Anchors as well. Apparently they are carved directly into the bedrock, which makes sense, as the Anchors would break off anything less solidly attached to the ground. They’re etched with sigils and symbols dedicated to Molag Bal which glow when the Anchor is active, but are actually just channels for magicka to flow along, and have no inherent magical properties otherwise as far as I could tell. But what do I know? I’m not an expert. It’s funny how these people all seem to see the inscriptions as profane and mysterious, considering that I could read the Daedric script quite clearly. Honestly it mostly just said simple things like, “Molag Bal” and “Coldharbour calls, Nirn Obeys” and other inane nonsense like that. I suppose it seems less mysterious to me because I actually have a little bit of magical training and written Dunmeris uses Daedric script anyway.

At the Mages Guild’s request, the stonemasons in charge of directing the Anchor base’s deconstruction had the pieces with etchings set aside and sent to the Mages Guild for study. It made our job a little bit more difficult, as we couldn’t just take a pick and sledgehammer to every exposed surface, and had to carve out the stone with etchings without destroying them.

In the end, we shoveled dirt over the top of the ruined site so that the cultists couldn’t come back and carve another anchor base into the bedrock without having to dig to get to it. The Bosmer members of the Fighters Guild even went so far as to plant the newly packed dirt with strangler seedlings.

I had started feeling better as soon as we were done smashing rock, and by the time we had finished with the site, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. I hadn’t realized just how suffocated I had been feeling until I could finally breathe easily again.

Once we were back at the Den, and after we had eaten our evening meal, Fayrl told me he wanted to talk to me in private. He took me back to my room and told me he had been worried about me ever since the start of this business with the Dark Anchor. Apparently he had noticed my anxiety, and it made him feel helpless. He said I had shut down, become closed off, and he hated seeing me like that.

I was touched. I had no idea he had been so worried about me. I asked him how well he had been handling it, and he told me he’d had too much on his mind to process it all, but that my relief was his relief in this case. Now as touching as that is, I know it can’t be healthy, so I asked him if he was sure he was actually alright now, and he told me that while he didn’t feel shaken, he wasn’t entirely sure. Discerning his own feelings seems to be a challenge for him.

He told me that he usually just copes with alcohol and company of the physical variety, and then got embarrassed when he realized that might sound like he was trying to proposition me (although why, I have no idea–he’s propositioned me before.) I teased him, and he got defensive, saying it was easier for him to socialize if he’s allowed to lie.

Then we got into a debate about the merits of lying, and he tried to argue that he’d been taught to lie by Mother Morrowind’s most trusted servants, and surely Lord Vivec would agree with his point of view because Mephala is his Anticipation. I responded with something along the lines of “According to the Codes of Mephala, lies are a weapon to be used against one’s enemies. Certainly, your training in House Intelligence would teach you how to wield a lie as a weapon of war, but it is not an appropriate tool to wield against those not arrayed in combat against you. I understand that the intricacies of House war make this a difficult line to walk, but I’ve always avoided it for that very reason.”

Of course that just earned me a lecture on the difficulty of discerning friend from enemy in House society, and how he’d much rather live a life as a bard, and so on and so forth. In the end I had to admit he’s certainly thought his philosophy of lying through quite thoroughly, but I warned him that like all weapons of war, lying is not immune to innocent casualties.

I’m not sure the warning stuck, because he just told me that he hadn’t had much of a choice as far as what career to follow. He started getting emotional about it actually, so I offered him a hug. I get it. He can’t exactly escape the society he was born into so easily as all that. I just wish that being honest with me wasn’t so difficult for him.

He started trying to blame himself for me ending up all the way across Tamriel, but I told him it wasn’t his fault, and in any case I enjoy his company. He told me that was nice of me to say, but that I didn’t need to soften the blow for him; that he knew he was an insufferable, self absorbed prat. He’d come to check on me and ended up with me comforting him instead of the other way around. He started berating himself, saying he couldn’t do anything right, and that’s why he was in this mess in the first place, and could I imagine he actually used to be a shy and quiet child?

I had to laugh. Fayrl? Shy and quiet? So I asked him what happened, and he told me. Whatever I expected, his story wasn’t it. Apparently he’s the son of one of the most accomplished battlemages in Morrowind, and when he was growing up everyone expected him to follow in his mother’s footsteps. When they went to test his magical abilities, it turned out that he couldn’t use much magic at all. They told him he was “less talented than a drunk Nord with a bucket on his head” and that he was a waste of potential, which is an absolutely appalling thing to tell a child. Honestly, it makes me so angry to hear stuff like that. I think if I ever meet his mother I’m going to give her a piece of my mind on the subject, because the way he was treated sounded downright abusive. You don’t go putting those kinds of expectations on a child and then tell them they’re failures when they don’t meet your unreasonable standards!

His mother actually told him that the only alternative to becoming a battlemage, the only other way he could possible serve his House, was to join the Temple and hope that his noble birth would carry him into a career befitting his station. I have so many problems with that that I don’t even know where to start! Honestly, I want to punch the woman, she sounds so awful.

Just… she set it up as a false dichotomy. There’s not just two career choices in the world, and he’d eliminated the best one, and furthermore, you don’t go around berating children as failures when they didn’t even do anything wrong! They’re children, they can’t help it if they don’t meet your expectations! Your expectations are just unreasonable! Fayrl should have had the chance to grow up with a mother that accepted him for who and what he was, and allowed him to make his own choices about his future!

Gaah! It just makes me… I mean,  _I_ didn’t even have it that bad, and I didn’t even have a mother! Sure the priests were… emotionally distant most of the time while they were raising me, but they still told me I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up!

Fayrl just shrugged and said that was House life, and that he was only given the choice of which cage to reside within. His House continued to see him as a disappointment, and considered him a blight against their image, so they finally sent him on an impossible mission hoping he would find an honorable death, and they wouldn’t have to bother with him anymore, or dirty their hands getting rid of him.

It just makes me all the more determined to help him prove them wrong. He needs me to be his final party member to ensure he doesn’t fail his mission, but I’m sure I can be more than that if I try. I’m sure the word of a Buoyant Armiger has to have  _some_ sway with House Indoril. I’ll have to look into it once we get back to Morrowind.

I asked him if he would come out of retirement if he could. He told me he would kill for the opportunity, but that it wasn’t going to happen. House Intelligence, the head of the Temple in Mournhold, and the Grandmaster of his House all told him he would never get another chance. I asked if he’d tried to join Pact Intelligence instead, but he told me that the Grandmaster would block him from doing so if he tried. I realized at that point that he’d probably thought of more options than I could come up with off the top of my head, and making him go over why he couldn’t do this or that was pointless and insensitive, so I invited him to play a game with me to take his mind off it instead.

He told me he might be persuaded if there was alcohol involved, but he was feeling a bit off because now he couldn’t help but expect me to try to sell him out or put a blade through his chest because I knew too much about him.

I tried to reassure him that I had no motivation to hurt him, and every motivation to keep him safe, but he told me he knew that already. It was just his training warning him of potential danger. He said there were only four people in the world he would ever trust not to do that to him, and one of them was dead already, having betrayed him. He assured me that it wasn’t intended as a slight against my character, and that he thought I was actually a rather virtuous person, but he didn’t know me well enough yet.

I immediately said that was something we could fix, and offered to play a game with him again, but he was hesitant. He said he wasn’t sure why he felt it was alright to tell me all those things, and he’d probably gone and signed his death warrant as a result, and he’d rather just go and find someone to take his mind off it.

I asked what I could do to help, and he started babbling something about me having a policy and he didn’t want to force me into doing something I didn’t want to do. He said he cared about me, even if it’s hard for him to show it, but until I was ready he’d rather just go find someone else to help him cope. He also mentioned something about how other people do not want to see how ugly he truly was? I’m not sure what he was talking about with any of that actually.

So I asked, “policy?” And he said “Was it not the case that you would not lie with me on account of how we met?” To which I responded “Not while the trauma was still fresh, and not while I didn’t know you well enough to trust you not to place expectations on me that I couldn’t or didn’t want to live up to, but Fayrl we’ve been free for six weeks, and I know you’re not the type of person to try to tie me down in any kind of a relationship that I don’t want. Also, I don’t think you’re ugly. Actually, I, uh… I think you’re gorgeous.”

He accused me of lying. Indignant, I protested.

He apologized, saying he wasn’t used to people complimenting him without wanting something. Then in an absolutely transparent attempt to divert my attention he pretended to get distracted by my eyes.

Now I’m aware I have somewhat unusual eyes. They’re a sort of brownish amber red instead of bright red, but his attempt was so obviously a ploy I had to laugh.

He told me not to laugh at him, and, still laughing, I told him I wasn’t laughing at him, I was laughing at his tone. He asked what was wrong with his tone, and I said “nothing.” He said it wasn’t nothing because I wouldn’t be laughing if it was nothing. I called him adorable. He got huffy and told me to take it back, then in his best House Dunmer voice he said “In House Indoril we don’t do fun and we don’t do adorable. We only do what is right and just under the laws of merciful Mother Morrowind.” And then he started laughing too.

Then he turned it around on me and said if either of us was adorable, by all rights it was me. So I just responded, yep, and I’m a short mer named Tel as well. Absolutely insufferably cute.

Then he mentioned he knew someone else named Tel.

“You do?” I asked.

“I do! He was a gift from my brother.”

“A  _gift?_ ” I asked, confused.

“Oh yes!” he said. “The fastest and strongest guar I’ve ever seen!”

I had to laugh. “A  _guar?!_ ”

“Oh yes,” he said. “He was a very good friend. I suppose I should have counted him in the group of those I trust. I would risk life and limb for _that_ Tel.”

I asked if he knew that my name was actually Telandryn. He hadn’t known that and he laughed when I said it was too stuffy for me. He said it was far less likely to get me confused for the greatest guar in Morrowind, but he wouldn’t mind if I wanted to be between his legs as well–I could show off my strength and speed.

“Oh no!” I said. “That makes it sound like you’re a guarfucker!”

“You know that’s not what I meant!” he protested.

There was quite a bit more flirting and innuendo, but in the end he finally kissed me!

He’s a good kisser too. I think I would have been content to kiss him for hours had his arousal not distracted me.

He’s even more gorgeous than I remember. There was a little confusion about who would be fucking who, as both of us had no particular preference, but he finally just told me to fuck him because it was easier than leaving to try to locate whatever it is the Bosmer use for contraception around here.

It was good. It was  _really_ good. Perhaps part of that is the fact that I haven’t gotten laid since Mournhold, and probably another part of it is the fact that Fayrl’s a prostitute, but I’d  _like_ to think that at least some of it is because we’ve managed to develop a close friendship. I usually only sleep with my close friends because I’ve found the rapport just makes it better. I mean, besides the fact that close friends know me better than to try to put unwanted expectations on me. Trusting someone and knowing what they like just makes sex better. I’m glad Fayrl and I managed to achieve that kind of a relationship.

In any case, we’re going to see the Ayleid ruin together, so I’m very much hoping we’ll get more of a chance on the trip to explore each other’s desires.

Read Fayrl’s Corresponding Entry 1 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/176207026324/23rd-of-suns-height-morndas>  
Entry 2 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/176235854539/24th-of-suns-height-tirdas>  
Entry 3 Here: <https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/post/176305981884/26th-of-suns-height-turdas>

Read Qau-dar’s Corresponding Entry Here: <https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/post/176279319592/25th-of-suns-height>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a record of a roleplay between four different authors on tumblr.  
> Myself, at https://mazurah.tumblr.com/  
> https://talldarkandroguesome.tumblr.com/  
> https://warmsandstraveler.tumblr.com/  
> and http://thatoneshadyshop.tumblr.com/
> 
> The version here is collected for ease of reading, but remains incomplete as it only contains Tel's side of the story. It contains links within the body of the text to the specific tumblr pages where you can read the rest of story.


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